


Hawkeye and the Mythical City of Wakanda

by cakeisnotpie



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Archaeology, F/F, F/M, Inspired by Indiana Jones, Lots of Sex, M/M, Wakanda, lots of danger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 49,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7754764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson, professor of Archaeology at Culver University, is damned if he's going to let an overambitious Provost steal the find of the century, even if it means crawling to Tony Stark to fund his own expedition.  Turning to Clint Barton, the infamous Hawkeye, adventurer and tomb raider extraordinary, Phil may or may not prove the mythical Wakanda exists, but he's sure to run into all sorts of dangers including ones of the heart. </p><p>This story is told from Phil's POV.  All the pairings listed will have scenes and part of the story arc, but the main couple are Phil and Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I plan on posting a chapter a week; this is looking like a long one in the tradition of The Hills are Alive or A Wolf in the Fold. Imagine Indiana Jones meets porn. :)))) Oh, with a load of angst tossed in.

“What right does he have to make that decision? This is my find, damnit, and I’m not going to let some penny pinching administrator take it away from me.”

Dr. Phil Coulson, Professor of Archeology at Culver University, clenched his fists at his side as he paced back and forth across the Persian rug. Cheeks flushed with anger, he stopped to lean against the back of one of the straight back wooden chairs Nicholas Fury kept in his office for visitors.

“Pierce doesn’t have the university’s best interests at heart and you know it. He’s more interested in playing politics and planning his rise to the President’s position when Donaldson retires. According to the Faculty handbook, I’m the one who should be leading the expedition; I’m the senior faculty member and the one who uncovered the documents. He can’t just toss away the rules because he wants to curry favor with some big donor!”

Sitting at his desk, hands clasped and two fingers steepled, Nick Fury, current Dean of Arts and Sciences, held his tongue. Phil knew his friend didn’t have any choice in the matter, but he needed to vent his frustration to someone.

“I can’t let him give this to Garrett, Nick. There’s no way I’ll let John take the glory for the discovery.” Phil finally ran out of steam, sinking down into the uncomfortable chair. “He’ll hog it for himself and I’ll be shit out of luck. Again.”

“You really need to get over that asshole,” Nick said. “What did you ever see in him?”

“I am not …” Phil sighed. They’d had this argument too many times already; he didn’t want to get sidetracked by another lecture on his bad taste in men. “It doesn’t matter. We have to take this to the faculty senate, file a grievance. Stop this somehow.”

“By the time we get the paperwork in order and convene the committees, it will be too late. Garrett’s leaving in three weeks; the Provost is angling for a major find right before he throws in his bid for the big chair,” Nick said. “Pierce has the trustees in his pocket; there’s nothing I can do.”

Five years. Five years of combing through dusty scrolls in miniscule back rooms of untended archives. Five years of tracking even the tiniest hint, interviewing a cousin of a cousin’s sister-in-law who heard a story from their grandfather. Satellite images, oral tales … any and all bits of information about the mythical country of Wakanda. He had studied all the previous expedition’s journals and findings from the ones who returned with nothing as well as every document he could find about the two who disappeared.

And he found it. In a tiny bookstore, tucked just off Nevsky Prospekt in St. Petersburg, around the corner from the Kupetz Eliseevs, jammed between a ratty first edition of Tarzan by Edgar Rice Burroughs and a hardback Atlas of Africa, his fingers pulled out a tattered copy of Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, pages dog-eared and margins filled with faded ink. Inside the front cover was scrawled the name Henry Latham Curry, private secretary to Cecil Rhodes and explorer in his own right. The yellowed pages were littered with drawings of plants and animals, bits of data about miles traveled and supplies taken on in different cities. But most important to Phil were the crudely drawn maps of the interior of the continent, a hint about the location of the fabled land.

“I know it’s not your fault.” Phil sighed; he dropped his head back, rubbing his palms along the fabric of his khaki pants. “I should have seen it coming; Donaldson’s already got one foot in retirement and Pierce is free to make his move.”

“I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.” Nick sat back, dropping his hands. “I’d fund you out of my budget, but it’s been slashed every year since Pierce came.”

“That’s why you haven’t replaced Alan’s position.” Phil had heard theories about why the job hadn’t been advertised; everyone was talking about it. “He cut your tenure track lines.”

“And I drew the line about hiring more part-time adjuncts to be treated like slave labor.” Nick shrugged. “You know how I feel about taking advantage of ABDs and new graduates. Alexander doesn’t agree; he could care less about consistency of instruction or fair wages. Or overloaded classes, it seems. Look, Phil, I know you want to lash out, but do it the right way. Start the grievance process; an official inquiry will get the Board’s attention. Build a case against him.”

“And just let John find evidence of Wakanda while I spin my wheels going through level after level of committees?” Phil pushed up, a new burst of anger fueling his actions. “Bend over and take it? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“No,” Fury’s voice snapped back at him. “You might lose the first battle, but you could win the war. Write your first letter and get it in by the deadline …”

“Yeah. I’m going to write a letter alright. I’ll be sure and send you a copy.” Phil strode for the door, throwing it open, not caring who was within earshot. “I’ll go get started on it right now and you hold your breath. Let’s see who wins.”

Students scattered as he made his way down the hall, a virtual thundercloud billowing in his wake. He left the administration building through the side door, taking the portico stairs that led to the back of the library. Avoiding the main campus walkways, he skirted between Whitman Hall and the Brandt Biology Wing, heading for the ugly sixties building that housed the Archeology Department. Slim windows that didn’t open, a boiler system that made sure the rooms were burning hot in the winter and icy cold in the summer, and a refurbished elevator that shook and groaned so much only the most hardy of souls tempted fate to ride it.

Parrish Hall was made of concrete bricks, shaded to look like sandstone, and fake archways of plaster to match the older stone edifices around it. Four levels, accessed by two sets of compact stairways at either end, The first two floors were classrooms filled with squeaking chairs and chalkboards that covered the walls; the computers worked eighty percent of the time and a good half of the projectors had bulbs that were bright enough. Between classes, the halls became a traffic jam of bodies, in and out, trampling upstairs and exiting through the glass doors.

Taking the steps two at a time, Phil left the bustle of students behind on his way to the top. Jasper always complained about the hike, but Phil liked it up here, just rows of office doors. His window overlooked the green where students hung out in good weather, and he had enough room for a threadbare old sofa in his office, big enough to take naps on or have Jasper and Melinda in for lunch. Students found him, which he liked, and the administrators rarely ventured up, another check in the plus column. Sometimes Nick came by to hide out and get work done, bringing his laptop and leeching off of Phil’s wifi booster for his own version of quiet time.

The glass pane on the door was marked Department of Archeology, a joke since only he and Melinda had their office off the main room. Everyone else was spread out down the hall, mixed in with Anthropology and Classical Studies. some smartass students had taken to calling it Limbo, or Dante’s first level of Hell. Phil actually thought that was funny considering most of them had tenure and pretty much didn’t care, about Pierce or his new agenda.

Entering, he banged the door shut behind him, not caring about the loud noise or the startled looks from the two people inside. Originally intended to be a secretary space between two faculty offices, the room now held two battered wooden desks, pushed together in the center, overflowing bookshelves and file cabinets in every open wall space, and an array of boxes stacked in seemingly every available space. Only the four thin strips of glass that served as windows were left uncovered. But the room wasn’t messy: labels adorned every box, each shelf alphabetized and broken into categories, files stacked neatly waiting to be put in their place. Controlled chaos, that’s what Phil’s graduate teaching assistant called it, a system she’d invented and kept in perfect order.

As Phil stood in the small waiting area with chairs for students and visitors, Jemma Simmons, a small powerhouse of a woman at 5’ 4’ and a sopping wet weight of 110 pounds, and came around her desk. Hands on her hips, her usual happy smile turned to a frown as she studied Phil’s face.

“Well, damn.” Her crisp British accent couldn’t hide her anger. “Fury couldn’t help.”

“It’s Pierce, what did I tell you?” Leo Fitz, the one and only graduate student in Archeotechnology, stayed seated but leaned his elbows on his desk. “He’s got it out for the department.”

“Oh, Fitz, please. He’s not going to get rid of a world class Archeology department.”Jemma, who had already published three article in the emerging field of Paleobiology, said. “Too many donors like funding digs that bring back shiny things for museums.”

As always, Phil marveled over the fact that these two brilliant scholars had chosen to come to Culver; despite Pierce’s penny pinching, Nick encouraged entrepreneurship and creativity, allowing Fitz to marry his mechanical knowhow with his love for ancient civilizations. At another school, Jemma would have been pushed into chemistry and biology, but here she could study human bones and compare viruses that had long been extinct with the common cold.

“There’s nothing Nick can do,” Phil told them. His shoulders sagged as the truth hit home. “He wants me to file a grievance, but that can take a year or more.”

“A grievance?” Leo rolled his eyes and huffed. “Pierce’ll get his cronies to slow down the process, draw it out for three or four years at least. That’s a load of bull.”

“You should go after it on your own,” Jemma said, pulling her long brown hair back and twisting between her fingers. “Would the Dean fund …”

“There’s no money in the budget.” Phil leaned back against the door, suddenly tired. “And I’ve been out of the field for too long; I don’t have my contacts anymore.”

“It’s not like you’d be alone,” Leo told him. “We’re going too; we’ve already discussed it. Darcy’s agreed to watch Bonzo and feed Jemma’s fish.”

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” Phil protested, but Leo kept talking over him.

“Dr. May’s figured out how to cover the last two weeks of classes,” Jemma added. “I know Dr. Foster won’t mind if I turn my project in early and Fitz has a high enough grade in Dr. Banner’s class that he can skip the final.”

“That’s all well and good,” Phil finally cut in. “But. We. Have. No. Funding.”

“Actually I had a thought about that.” Melinda May, a world-renowned specialist in TransAsian and African studies, stood in her doorway, shoulder against the jam. Any student who looked at her petite frame and made the assumption she was a pushover learned their error quickly. “We could explore alternative revenue streams.”

For a second, Phil just stared then he realized what she meant. “No. Just … no. It’s a bad idea.”

“She can talk him into it,” Melinda said, completely unfazed. “Hell, he’d love to have his name on a find like this.”

“He’ll turn it into a business opportunity,” Phil protested. “Hell, if we find anything he’ll probably build a theme park or something.”

“I’ve already called Pepper; you’ve got a dinner date tonight, 6:30 at the Tower Grill.” She gave him that smile, the one that said there would be no argument. “Fitz Simmons and I will start getting things ready; we can get a two week head start if we move fast.”

“Mel. You know I can’t …” Five year since he’d gone on a dig. One thousand, nine hundred and twenty two days to be precise.

“If you don’t, you let him win.” She made it sound so simple and, he supposed, to her it was. FAcing her problems head on was Melinda’s way; Phil preferred to brood on his. “This is your dream, Phil. File a grievance if that’s what you want; I’ll support whatever you decide.”

She would; he knew that without a doubt. He hadn’t always been the kind of friend she deserved, but he tried. “You went to the trouble to call Pepper; the least I can do is get a free dinner.”

“Yes!” Leo pumped his fist; Jemma glared at him and he settled down. “I mean, good. That’s good.”

“We’ll see,” Phil replied.

~~++~~

Alexander Randolph Coulson traveled the world with his friend of William Edgar Geil, walking the Great Wall of China and exploring the tribes in Africa. One of Phil’s fondest memories of his childhood was sitting in his Grandfather’s library, filled with maps and books, weapons and armor, sculptures and mask, listening to story after story of adventures in foreign lands. Myths and legends mingled with truth and Phil’s lifelong fascination with other cultures was born. His father, a history professor, encouraged Phil, taking him on trips and to conferences where he bought book after book, reading everything he could get his hands on.

Then Indiana Jones came to the big screen, and Phil was set on his course. Somewhere along the way, he found the old tales of the legendary land of Wakanda coming into focus. Studying with Dr. Peggy Carter as a dissertation director cemented his speciality; his first publication came from a dig she sponsored in Kenya about a tiny fragment of stone with unusual characters chiseled into the side. So like Nisibi but not the same; that’s how he crossed paths with Melinda and a partnership was born.

He was thinking about a particular story, the one with a cursed king and a his cheating wife, when he pulled into the parking lot. One of his favorites, Phil admired the king for staying noble despite all the hardships he had to endure. Maybe he could take his cue from Lwengwe and deal with his own shit storm of a life.

“Phil!” Virginia Potts, better known as Pepper, waved from the bar. “So good to see you; I’m just sorry it had to be under these circumstances.” She was warm and smelled like expensive flowers; she squeezed him tight as she hugged him. “Tony’s parking the car; he insisted on driving the new Alpha and he worries about scratches.”

“Thank you for meeting me.” Phil followed her as she made her way to a back booth. “I know you’re busy …”

“All Mel had to say was that you needed help.” She slid in gracefully and patted the vinyl seat next to her. “We’re friends and that’s what friends do. Help each other. Nothing’s going to change that.”

“I’m not sure …” Phil trailed off as the waitress came over, laminated menus in her hand. They ordered drinks, Pepper getting a milkshake for herself and a coffee for Tony. “I’m not sure what kind of help I need,” Phil admitted.

“What did I miss?” Tony Stark, heir to the Stark fortune, CEO of Stark Industries, certifiable genius, and royal pain in the ass, asked as he slid into his side of the booth. “Did Phil beg yet? I really want to hear the begging before I say yes.”

“Phil was just telling me how the Provost is trying to give his find to someone else.” So used to Tony’s antics that she didn’t blink an eye, Pepper’s concern was sincere when she put her hand on Phil’s arm. “Who is Pierce hiring to lead the expedition?”

“John Garrett.” The name tasted like ash on Phil’s tongue; after all the lies, anything he’d felt for the man was long gone. “And Garrett’s got Ward as crew leader.”

“Wow, now that’s a serious ‘fuck you’,” Tony said with a low whistle. “Not just stealing your work but using those two? The gloves are off; at least he’s showing his hand now.”

“And he’s thrown his full budgetary discretion behind Garrett,” Phil added. “No expense spared.”

“I always knew I didn’t like that man,” Pepper insisted. “He looks at his secretary with calculation, like he’s deciding how to manipulate her.”

“Okay, so what do you need?” Tony sat back as the waitress delivered their drinks, winking at the young brunette. “Bring me some real milk, darlin’. I like mine creamy.”

“Melinda said you could beat them to Africa if you left within the week; she’s working up a budget, said it would be ready by late tomorrow,” Pepper said. “Are you sure you want to go back in the field? We could fight this with lawyers and through the system.”

“No, I’m not sure.” Hearing it laid out so baldly made it real; did he really want to face his demons? “There’s no guarantee that there’s anything to find; it could just be tilting at windmills. If I do this, I’m probably throwing away my career, tenure be damned. Mel too. And Jemma and Leo; they’ll be tarred with the same brush.”

“Do you think your findings are right?” Pepper asked.

“I know they are; still doesn’t mean we won’t arrive in the middle of the forest and find nothing. All I have are a set of directions based upon a dead man’s marginalia. Who knows what they lead to?” And therein lay Phil’s hesitation. He knew the writings were original, that they were not ravings of a lunatic or a good forgery. That was more than many archeologists began with.

“You gotta take a chance sometimes, Prof,” Tony said. “Hell, if I never took chances, I’d be Justin Hammer and we all know what a douche he is.”

“A douche who’s getting a science building named after him,” Phil retorted. “I don’t see a home of the future Stark Institute for Robotic Engineering sign going up on campus.”

“What?” Stark, who had been lounging in his seat, sat straight up. “Hammer’s getting an institute? For Robots? Fuck me..”

“It’s a done deal; Pierce personally wined and dined him, I hear,” Phil said. “Seems we’ve both been stabbed in the back.”

“And he turned Pep down for that art show?” Steam was practically come out of Tony’s ears. “That’s it. The Maria Stark Foundation for the Study of Ancient Cultures and Art. First exhibit is going to be whatever we find on this expedition; in fact, this can be the first one fully funded by the Foundation. Endow a chair and give it to Phil. And one for Mel. A couple lines for grad students; Fitz is a good kid and so’s that Simmons. Let Pierce have Hammer and his crappy robots that are going to bankrupt his company; SI’s going culturally sensitive and expanding into archeology.”

“Hold on,” Phil broke in. “I haven’t decided to …”

“Oh, it’s happening.” Tony talked over him. “In fact, I’m going to oversee the expedition myself. Hands on. I know this guy in Nairobi who knows a guy. Best guide you’ll find and I can promise you Garrett and his bunch won’t have someone as good. Pepper, clear my schedule and get the plane prepped …We’re going to Africa.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team arrives in Kenya and meets their guides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to be clear that this is not a "white savior" story. Trust me on this point; in no form or fashion will the white Americans ride in and save the day. In fact, you can count on quite the opposite. 
> 
> Also, I've taken liberties with characters' backstories, as I always do in AUs; I need some familiar faces to be locals, so I'm playing with that. Their personalities, on the other hand, will stay the same. :))))

Phil stared at the view in his window, a vista of the surrounding plains framed by flowing white curtains. He’d never stayed in such a luxurious hotel, much less a presidential suite with a private butler and 24 hour room service. But traveling with Tony Stark meant getting his “usual” room, and, it seemed, Tony liked people catering to his every whim. Even government officials bent over backwards when Tony called; permits, the bane of every expedition, appeared in days, not the usual month. The paperwork fell into place, Stark’s team of lawyers smoothing the way for their flight within the week. Private jet, nice hotel, easy access … Phil could very easily get used to the white glove treatment. The only holdup was permission from the South Congo to cross the border if necessary; Tony was in the next room, on the phone with the Minister of Antiquities, arguing about rights to any find they might make. The World Heritage Sites had been more than happy to accommodate the head of Stark Industries, probably thinking about the publicity should anything of note be discovered. With the Maria Stark Foundation backing the dig, they could be sure artifacts would find their way to a museum, not someone’s private collection. 

 

“Have you tried the shower?” Melinda asked, drying her hair with a fluffy white towel. “Better grab it before Leo uses all the hot water. It’ll be the last one before we get on the road.” 

 

“Stark and I are going to meet our guide as soon as he gets off the phone.” Phil had already gone round and round with everyone but had put his foot down.  He was the expedition leader, Stark or no Stark. “We should get …” 

 

A sharp rapped on the suite’s door; Jemma was closest, going over the med pack checklist.  Standing in the hall was a tall man in khaki shorts and a simple grey t-shirt; he grinned, an infectious smile that made Jemma blush. 

 

“Hello!” He stepped in the room. “I’m looking for a Mr. Tony Stark?” 

 

“He’s on the phone at the moment,” Phil said. “I’m Dr. Phil Coulson; can I help you?” 

 

“Ah, Dr. Coulson! I’ve read your book on World War II commandos and Wakanda. My grandfather was in Captain Roger’s third and fourth expedition.”  He held out his hand; firm grip, friendly eyes; Phil decided he liked him. “Antoine Triplett but my friends call me Tripp. I’m your driver.” 

 

“Your grandfather?” Phil’s heart sped up like it always did when history came to life. 

 

“Gabriel Jones.” Tripp squeezed Phil’s hand and let go. “He married a local girl and stayed after the war.” 

 

“He was part of the last one? The one where Rogers was lost?” A thousand questions bubbled inside Phil; things he wanted to know. 

 

“There’ll be plenty of time to interrogate him later,” Melinda deftly broke in. “Weren’t you just saying you had to be on your way?” 

 

“True.” Tony pocketed his phone.  “We’re already running late. We’re supposed to meet them in a bar on Latema Road. The Green Sidewalk or something like that.”

 

“You mean the Green Door?” Tripp hesitated, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “Are you sure? I can suggest some other bars that would be more to Mr. Stark’s style.  The Green Door’s a local place, not very fancy.” 

 

“Dude, don’t make assumptions; over-priced fruity drinks aren’t my glass of whiskey.”  He slapped Phil on the shoulder. “Don’t you agree, Phil?” 

 

“We’ll have everything ready when you get back,” Melinda assured him. “Go get us a guide.” 

 

Tripp knew the streets, driving through confusing traffic patterns with easel. They drove through the Ngong Forest, trees overhanging the road, then into the University area where students filled the sidewalks, just like at Culver.  The glass and concrete United Nations headquarters went by on their left, a long walk framed by flags of many nations.  Behind it, the Karura Forest framed the scene, tree limbs swaying in the evening breeze. 

 

It never ceased to amaze Phil how similar life was all over the world. For all the differences, students still carried backpacks with heavy books, bureaucrats carried paper filled briefcases, and parents carried babies in their arms. At this time of the day, a few hours before sunset, restaurants were doing a brisk business, street carts out in the shopping areas. Nairobi offered a lot of history that Phil ached to explore. If he had time, he’d visit the dig in Karura, take a Hemingway tour, visit the University. . 

 

The feel changed as Tripp turned down a smaller road; they wound into the Eastern outskirts, through residential areas where tiny apartments stacked one upon the other. People hung their laundry on wires that criss crossed above and shopped at little corner stores with fresh vegetables in bins.  The buildings here were older; families hung out on their stoops, watching the cars go by. 

 

Circling, they pulled up infront of a small concrete block one story with a green neon sign flashing ‘open.’  Tripp turned in his seat. “I’m going to park a few blocks away; do you want to get out now or walk back with me?” 

 

Someone tapped on the glass of the passenger side. An imposing man bent down, his shoulders so wide they filled the window. “Tony Stark?” he asked.

 

“Mack?” Tripp rolled down the window. “You’re who they’re meeting?” 

 

“The Hawk.” The man opened the back door. “I’m just the errand boy. You can park at the garage two blocks down; that’s my place.” 

 

Phil slid out, following Tony inside. They had no trouble finding a spot at the bar; men left their stools and made room when they saw Mack heading that way. He told them to wait there and went into the back. The bartender gave them a side eyed glance before asking what they wanted. Phil answered in Swahili, ordering them both a Tusker. 

 

“Of course you speak the language.” Stark shrugged and took the glass, sipping the larger.”This is good, but next time get a whiskey.” 

 

The kind of bar where locals hung out, the clientele ranged from working folks to a few groups of men in the back corner. Most were clustered around tables, whiskey and beer glasses scattered about. A few had bowls of maharagwe with sides of chapatis, eating their dinner with friends.  In his jeans and Aerosmith shirt, Tony almost managed to fit in -- if he didn’t have a thousand dollar pair of sunglasses perched in his perfectly messy hair. Phil’s own chambray shirt, sleeves rolled up and collar open, was too new;  despite the sweat stains and the dust on the hem of his khaki field pants, he looked very much like a tourist.  

 

One specific set of eyes caught Phil’s attention; slumped down in his chair, feet stretched out and ankles crossed, the man lifted his head and tipped the old brown fedora back on his head. Snug fitting dungarees, battered boots, and a t-shirt that might have once been grey but was now smudged with dirt, clinging to his muscular chest. The man looked like he’d stepped right out of history, an adventure of the golden screen. Tanned skin with biceps to spar, the expat obviously belonged here; no one gave him a second glance, not like the stares newcomers Phil and Tony were getting. Dark blonde hair, sweaty and spiky, peeped from under the brim, and blue grey eyes followed the line of Phil’s body from the soles of his boots all the way to the top of his head. 

 

Feeling self-conscious, Phil dropped his gaze; for a man who’d just turned forty, he was in good shape, but he wasn’t young anymore. HIs brown hair was starting to thin, male pattern baldness inherited from his father. He wore his black rimmed glasses, too tired from the long flight to put his contacts in. If anything, he looked like exactly what he was; a college professor who lived for his work and not much else. Still, the man cocked an eyebrow and one side of his lips turned up in a quirk of a smile. Picking up his drink, he saluted Phil before he took a sip. Maybe it had been too long since Phil had dated, but he did remember what flirting looked like. 

 

“He’s cute,” Tony said in a sotto voice whisper that everyone at the bar could hear. “We’re not leaving for a day or two. I say go for it.” 

 

“When have you ever not said go for it?” Phil replied. “We’re here to work not hook up.”

 

“Dude, you can do both at the same time. Me? I like the looks of that redhead over there. Compact but deadly.” Tony motioned towards the woman who had just entered from the back. “Bet she could rock my world. Although, if you don’t take hot hat dude up on it, maybe a threesome?” 

 

Phil couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman; petite, yes, but the way she walked made him want to cover his balls with his hands to protect them. She oozed ‘don’t even try it,’ sending clear signals that she could handle herself. Even in simple cargo pants and a black t-shirt, she was by far the sexiest woman in the bar, and she carried herself as if she knew it. Flame red hair curled around the edges of the bandana she had tied on her head; emerald green eyes surveyed the room before settling on Phil. 

 

“Dr. Coulson.” She came towards him; her grip was firm as they shook hands. The hint of Russian accent gave away her heritage although her English was perfect. “Pleasure to meet you. I’ve read some of your papers on the Slavic influence in Western Africa. Quite enlightening. Natasha Romanova.” 

 

“Ms. Romanova,” Phil said. “I’m glad you enjoyed my work.” 

 

“Stark.” She raised an eyebrow and spat out the one word of greeting before addressing Phil again. “If you’ll come this way, we’ll get down to business.” 

 

Phil was all too aware of Russia’s recent forays into Africa; after the fall of the Soviet Union in the early 90s, Russia had all but withdrawn from the area, the collapse of infrastructure and emergence of new countries like Georgia and the Ukraine more pressing issues for them. But the Russian government under Vladimir Putin had been quietly rebuilding their ties to the African nations. Phil had written a whole section on the country’s relationship with the Republic of the Congo in his expedition proposal. Interesting, then, that the guide Tony knew was a Russian. 

 

As if Fate was laughing at him, Natasha led them right to the table where the guy in the hat was waiting. Phil only just managed not to sigh; so much for flirting. That had been checking out a potential client. 

 

“Phil Coulson, archeologist; Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye.” Natasha introduced them; Phil slipped his hand in the proffered one. A firm grip with calloused fingers squeezed back; Clint smiled, his eyes bright and full of mischief. 

 

“Dr. Livingston, I presume?” He deadpanned. “Oops, sorry. Dr. Coulson.” 

 

When Natasha ignored Tony, he inserted himself into the conversation. “Tony Stark. Man who’s paying for this little expedition.” 

 

“Clint Barton. Guy who hasn’t decided to take the job yet.” Clint motioned to the empty seats; he waited for Natasha to sit before he followed suit. “Now, why don’t you tell me what you want and why you want my team.” 

 

“Aside from the hotness quotient? Because, damn, you blow the meter.” Stark waggled his eyebrows and winked; Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and remained stone faced. “Tough crowd. Shesh. Fine. Phil, you want to do the honors?” 

 

He couldn’t get the tingling along his spine to stop, so he tried to ignore the sensation. “We’re looking to hire guides for an expedition. Our goal is to recreate one of Cecil Rhodes’ journeys starting at Lake Turkana and following their trail through the mountains.”

 

“That’s it? Hell, there are bus tours through the World Heritage Site. You don’t need us to find your way around,” Clint said. 

 

“So this doesn’t have anything to do with the big Wakanda hunt that’s hiring everyone left and right?” Natasha asked. “‘Cause I have to tell you, anyone with a license is angling to get onboard that gravy train. They don’t even have permits yet but they’re throwing money around like it’s water.” 

 

“Where are they from?” Clint tilted his head and pretended to think. “Culver University. That’s it. Same place you teach, Phil. Am I right?” 

 

Someone had done their homework; no need to keep secrets when they already knew. “You’re right. I’m the one who made the discovery, and I’m going to be the one who proves or disproves it.” 

 

“So you want to beat them to the punch?” Natasha gaze fixed on Phil. “Make your name, get all the fame?”

 

“It’s not about fame,” Phil insisted. “It’s a matter of principle.”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Clint said. “I’m not going to take you to Wakanda because there is no Wakanda. It’s a myth, just like Atlantis. Many people have tried to find it and far too many of them haven’t returned. Those mountains are not for the faint hearted. Rockslides, deep crevasses, poisonous snakes, panthers … it’s too dangerous even if there was something to find. But there’s not. Trust me on this; let the others waste their money.” 

 

“If you don’t want to do it, we’ll find someone who will,” Tony said, leaning across the table. “We don’t need the attitude.”

 

“And what’s in it for you Stark? Mineral rights? Going to cut down the trees to make room for fracking equipment?” Natasha shot back. “You’re not the kind who funds an operation like this out of the goodness of your heart.”

 

Tony stilled, all humor gone. “You don’t know me,” he said very quietly. “I’d be wary of making assumptions like that.” 

 

“Look.” Phil felt his anger rising up again; he hadn’t come this far to get turned down. “The other group is going to follow the trail I laid out whether we go or not. That’s the truth. So is the fact that their leader, John Garrett, will leave a trail of destruction in his wake. He doesn’t care about anything but the profit margin and potential glory. Too many people get hurt on his expeditions. So, either we leave it up to him, or we find whatever there is to find before he can ruin it. Tony’s money can insure any artifacts or sites get placed under the protection of World Heritage and the correct governments, thanks to the Maria Stark Foundation. That’s why he’s here.” 

 

For a moment, no one spoke then Tony punched him in the shoulder. “You go, Coulson! Remind me never to piss you off.” 

 

“John Garrett?” Clint’s voice lowered, his face going blank. His eyes flicked towards Natasha and back to Phil, twinkle gone. “He’s the one in charge?” 

 

“Yes. Garrett’s worked for Pierce, our Provost, before. The dig in Playa del Carmen. The one in Cape Forchu.” As Phil spoke, he watched the flickers of emotion race across Clint’s handsome face then get shut down. “John did some work around here, not as principle, but as a dig team leader, if I remember right. Early on in his career.” 

 

“Okay. We’re going to need permits -- Mack’s got a friend in the Office of the Interior -- and I can get a line on the Congo paperwork …” Natasha’s phone appeared in her hand and she began making notes. “Supplies -- we can shoot you a list and where to get the best deal on quality stuff.” 

 

“Permits are already taken care of,” Phil broke in. “My team brought most of our own tools; we’ll just need the basic camping gear and food stuffs. Travel light, that’s the idea.” 

 

The smile returned to Clint’s face. “You must have been a boy scout,” he said. “Are you always prepared?” 

 

The roguish wink left no doubt about the double meaning; Phil felt the rush of blood to his cheeks. “I’m an archeologist. I learn from the past.” 

 

“Well then, I guess we’re going to Lake Turkana,” Tony said. “That deserves a round of the best whiskey they have here. Oh, garcon?” he called to the bartender.

 

“Tell me he’s not coming,” Natasha said. 

 

“From what I hear, he comes a lot,” Clint replied. 

 

“He’s the money.” Phil shrugged. “Plus, he just might surprise you.” 

 

“There’s not any chance I can talk you two into a threesome for the evening?” Tony said. He knew exactly what he was doing, Phil was convinced. 

 

Phil didn’t help when Natasha hauled off and punched Tony in the arm.

  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, the timetable gets pushed up, and Phil meets an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I'm a day early. Despite being the first week of classes, I'm powering along on this story. After this chapter we leave the city and head into the back country. Lots of flirting coming and maybe even a monkey or two.

Standing at the window, looking out over the African plain, Phil wondered why he’d put off going in the field for so long. He loved seeing the world, becoming a student of other cultures; there was so much to learn, so much he didn’t know.  He and John had argued often about their purpose as archeologists; Phil believed they served simply to uncover history and share it with the world. The expanse of beautiful scenery in front of him only reinforced that idea.

 

He’d dreamed of that last expedition, tunnels that curved forever underground and deep chasms filled with darkness. Like always, he’d woken in a sweat but he’d managed to go back to sleep, lulled by the whoosh of the air conditioner and Fitz’s gentle snores. Getting on Stark’s jet had been hard, but each day that passed, he remembered why he loved his chosen profession.  

 

Sipping the dark Kenyan roast sweetened with just a sprinkle of sugar, Phil relished the taste.  Soon he’d be making coffee over a fire in his little collapsible pot, his one luxury item. Space was at a premium; everything had to be carried in packs and too much weight slowed the pace. Phil always put in a tin of ground beans because, as he’d discovered, a cup of coffee made any problem more manageable. Melinda brought chocolate; Phil had to have his morning caffeine.

 

“Any chance we can bring some of these … what were they called … mahamris?” Fitz piled a plate with the fried dough. “The coconut are the best.” 

 

“I don’t think they’ll last very long,” Jemma said, scooping up a bowl of porridge and adding cane sugar. “The tea is excellent; a touch darker than I like, but a nice ceylon. I should ask for some bags to take with me. Easier to brew with hot water that way.” 

 

“I’ve about got everything packed,” Fitz said, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the large table. “Can’t decide if I should take the minis and the larger sonic imager. They both have their uses.” 

 

“You’ve still got too much,” Jemma told him. “Even Samwise had to leave his pots and pans behind.” 

 

“And what if we need to safely do a scan underground? Or need an aerial one?” Fitz argued. “Then everyone will be all ‘why didn’t you bring the imager, Fitz?’ or ‘way to go, Fitz’.”

 

Phil tuned out the familiar argument; Fitz always brought too much equipment and Simmons always packed too many medical supplies. Instead, he spread out the map, weighing down the edges with cups. Old fashioned, he knew, but he still used a paper copy with destinations marked with Xs. A heavy black line marked their progress so far along with notes in Phil’s tiny scribbled handwriting. 

 

“You’re being ambitious about the amount of ground we can cover.” Melinda pointed near Mt. Kulai. She’d been up as long as Phil had, the two of them sharing their first cup as they watched the sunrise from the balcony. “First two days everyone will be carried on adrenaline; exhaustion will kick in on day three.” 

 

“The donkeys will help.” Phil had run the calculations and had made conservative estimates. 

 

“Donkeys?” Fitz perked up his ears. “See, Jemma? I can take all three!” 

 

“Good morning.” Tripp came in the room, bright and chipper. “I have good news!  Mack has arraigned three large SUVs for us. Plenty of space! I have one this morning for shopping.” 

 

“Oh, God, is everyone a morning person.” Tony strolled in, dark glasses covering his eyes, hair sticking up at various angles. “I need coffee.”  

 

Phil didn’t mention that he knew Tony hardly slept; Pepper had spent many a lunch worrying about Tony working all night. Underneath the brash exterior, Stark was driven by his own set of demons.  Pouring a full mug, Phil handed it to Tony who drank it straight, sighing after a long sip. 

 

“No chance I can bring an espresso machine?” He didn’t expect an answer and nobody gave him one. “Hey, I had this idea in the middle of the night. I ordered a couple drones large enough to make supply drops. Decent flying radius; food and coffee when we need it!” 

 

“That might work,” Fitz said; he’d yet to learn not to egg Tony on when it came to odd ideas. “If we tweak the navigation software we could …” 

 

“We might need a fourth car.” Melinda refilled her cup of tea from the samovar. “And I’m not carrying any of it.” 

 

“You’re fine with a tarp and trail mix.” Phil had worked with Melinda enough to know her weaknesses. M & Ms always found their way into her pouch. “From what I’ve read, some of the trail is practically vertical. Let’s see how much gets left at the base of the mountain.” 

 

As they ate breakfast, they bandied back and forth what they truly needed and what they could do without; Jemma kept the list of things to buy as Leo and Tony tried to polish off the mahamris by themselves. Occasionally, Tripp tossed out a few ideas; for every item, he knew where to procure it and how to get the best deal.  They’d made good headway when a knock sounded at the door.  Conversation stopped as Mack entered and instantly became the tallest man in the room. This morning he was wearing simple khaki shorts and a grey t-shirt that pulled across his muscular chest. 

 

Fitz’s eyes widened and he murmured to Simmons, “Whoa.” 

 

Then Natasha stepped into view, clad in a virtual duplicate of last night’s outfit.  Her green eyes surveyed each person, sizing them up in a glance. Jemma blushed when it was her turn, Leo stammered a greeting, and Melinda crossed her arms, settling her weight on one hip, not changing her steady gaze. Crossing straight to Melinda, Natasha held out her hand and introduced herself. “Natasha Romanova. I’m here to keep my team focused.” 

 

Mel smiled as she shook the proffered hand. “Melinda May. I’m here to wrangle our team.” 

 

Just like that, Phil saw a coalition born, the two scariest women he’d ever met coming to some unspoken agreement. They were going to run this expedition, and Phil was damn happy to let them do it.  He recognized competence when he saw it; besides Melinda was one of the smartest people he’d ever met. 

 

“Coffee.” Clint had slipped in behind the other two, making his way to the pot of dark liquid. Pouring a full mug, he drank deep. “Now I can be coherent. Maybe.” He winked at Jemma. “Hey, I’m Clint Barton. Nice to meet you …” 

 

“Jemma. Jemma Simmons. I’m the paleobiologist. And this is Leo Fitz,” she said. 

 

“I’m studying the history of machines,” Leo filled in the gap. “And I keep our equipment running, not to mention modifying a few myself. In fact, I’ve just made some changes to the solar generator, collapsed the cells without losing storage capacity …”

 

“Smaller than a standard six volt?” Mack asked. “Those are the most portable ones available.” 

 

“24 volt in a four volt size.” Leo smiled at the bigger man, his face lighting up.  “And I’ve cut their charging time by a third.” 

 

“How did you solve the overheating problem?” Mack was hooked, his attention fixated on Leo. 

 

“Do you want to see? It’s so cool.” Pushing away from the table, Fitz made to leave, then looked back at Phil.

 

“Go on. The two of you compare and make sure we don’t take any duplicate equipment,” Phil told him. “Just don’t add any more to the list.” 

 

“Aw, Phil, not even the drones?” Leo complained. 

 

“I’ve got two modified ones we use for communication.” Mack said. “I’ve got pictures on my phone.” They left the room, talk turning technical before they passed the doorway. 

 

“Now that’s a match made in heaven,” Clint said with a laugh, appearing at Phil’s elbow. “Mack loves his gadgets and machines; seems like your Fitz does too.” 

 

“Phil?” Jemma looked up from her list. “We better get started on this; if you add more, you can text me.” 

 

“I’m driving.” Tripp jumped up and pulled her chair back. “If you don’t mind the escort, I can show you around the city.” 

 

The blush appeared again on Jemma’s face. “I’d love the company,” she said. “And help loading the supplies.” 

 

“We’ll let you know of any changes,” Phil promised, hiding his amusement at the flustered twosome. It was good to see the team coming together; days on the trail had a way of bringing out the worst in people. At least they were starting out well. 

 

Clint stepped over to the map, sweet dough in his hand and a bite in his mouth. He tapped each mark, an overnight stop, and walked through the itinerary Phil had laid out. “You’re looking at two weeks,” he said. “A good twelve days on foot, best case scenario.”

 

“Twelve?” Phil leaned over. “I count nine.” 

 

“Maps don’t show everything.” He circled a place in the mountains to the west of the lake. “We have to respect tribal lands; got to ask permission even if we just pass through. Or we go around. Either way adds a day or two. And here,” another spot high the mountain range, “is supposed to be virtually unpassable. We’ll have to take a circular route.”

 

Phil watched the knobby finger, callouses on the pads, as Clint sketched out a new route. “Okay. Twelve isn’t bad; we’ll have supplies for 30 days with the packs. Six days leeway’s a good safety net; we can always send out a smaller team if we need to get back faster.” 

 

“Look, I feel like I need to say this one more time. Much as I relish taking Stark’s money, I believe in truth in advertising. There’s nothing out there but trees and animals and some gorgeous scenery.”  Clint turned his head and he was closer than Phil thought. Turned out, his eyes were blue and grey with hints of gold and green. 

 

“I understand.” Phil drew back, all too aware of the others in the room. “We’re still going.”

 

“Thought that’s what you’d say.” Clint smirked a little. “So, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we? Nat’s got the contracts and it’s half down before we go.” 

 

“Going to trot out your lawyers, Stark?” Natasha asked. 

 

“What have you got against me, Red?” Tony took the papers she held out. “Is it personal or on principal? One of those two usually cover it.” 

 

“Just write the check,” Natasha said. “Maybe I’ll tell you on the trail.” 

 

* * *

 

 

“Bad news.” Natasha pocketed her phone. “My contact at the University just called to ask about the second expedition. Word’s out.” 

 

“We didn’t tell anyone,” Fitz spoke up from behind the pile of equipment he and Mack were steadily shifting through. They’d been going at it for the last two hours, a friendly back-and-forth of technobabble that Phil barely understood. 

 

“We’re buying supplies.” Melinda shrugged. “It’s a small community; people talk.” 

 

“Unfortunately it seems there’s more than whispers.  The timetable for the other team’s departure is being moved up by a week; they’re pouring money on the problem to get everything ready,” Natasha said. 

 

“Damn,” Phil muttered. “Pierce will be robbing Peter to pay Paul.  The budget for next year will be shot.” 

 

“Even more reason to push on,” Melinda said. “If Garrett fails, the trustees will be on Pierce’s ass about the expense.” 

 

“Right after they fire ours,” Phil added. He glanced around the room, at the piles of supplies, food and empty bags. “We’ll pull out on Thursday morning, early. Tomorrow we’ll pack and load; that way we start out refreshed. Their sheer size will slow them down.” 

 

“We can make that work,” Melinda agreed. “Lighter and more mobile. Team Coulson for the win.” 

 

“And that leave tonight for a pre-victory feast. I’ll take care of the liquor; somebody who knows a good local place order the food.” Tony was already pulling out his phone. “Grab a partner and let’s have some fun!”

 

“No alcohol.” Melinda spoke first, just seconds before Natasha. 

 

“I’m not listening to your hungover bitching,” Natasha said. 

 

“Mack, you got mama’s number?  She’ll make us a meal fit for a king,” Clint asked, a grin on his face. “Real Kenyan food to boot.” 

 

“She’ll tell the story for years,” Mack said with an answering smile. “I’ll go pick her up and take her shopping.”

 

“Oh, I see, I just pay for stuff; otherwise, nobody listens to me.” Tony might have been complaining but he winked at Phil. “Fine. We’ll eat and then I’ll run a tab at the bar downstairs for anyone who wants to join me.” 

 

They worked the rest of the afternoon; Melinda was just as organized as Phil. Everything had to be checked and rechecked. Using a small scale, they weighed each item before sorting them into a pile. Every inch of space would be utilized to the fullest.  

 

Dinner, when it arrived, came in insulated patterned bags and plastic containers, carried in by Mack and directed by tiny older lady with a voice that demanded attention. She spoke in Swahili mixed with a smattering of English, a quick patter of words that Phil couldn’t follow. The food was hot and plentiful, from spiced potatoes to ugali to nyama choma, and she produced a couple pitchers of pombe, a homemade bush beer, earning her Tony’s undying gratitude. The table was filled, and conversation filtered through the room. 

 

Despite the moratorium on liquor, more beer appeared and Phil had enough to relax but not enough to get drunk. Clint, Phil noticed, had one and stopped, switching to water; he flirted with everyone, his witty one liners causing a lot of laughter.  Fitz astonished everyone, especially Mack, with the amount of food he put away; Melinda and Natasha sat together at one end, comparing places they’d been.  Mama, it turned out, wasn’t really anyone’s mother; her name was Sadiki Kurir, and she ran a street cart near the university during the lunch rush. Despite speaking little to no Swahili, Tony had her in stitches as he told stories about his work. 

 

The first to leave, Mack helped Sadiki clean up and took her home.  Turning down Tony’s offer of an open tab, Clint and Natasha headed out as well, Tripp following behind. Melinda staked her claim on the bathtub in her room; Phil took the opportunity to don his swim trunks and do some laps in the hotel pool.  The water soothed his worries and, when he crawled in the sheets, he fell asleep thinking about blue grey eyes and the smiles around the table. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Just send a text when you’re ready,” Tripp said as he pulled up in front of the coffee shop. “Street parking is impossible to find around here while school’s in.” 

 

Phil nodded his thanks as he jumped out; he’d argued with Melinda about keeping this appointment and she, as usually, had won through logic and a fair application of stubbornness. They had little time to waste, but his friend had been invaluable to Phil’s research. A cup of tea and a thank you was worth an hour. 

 

The cafe was small, but cozy, a fireplace in one corner surrounded by padded armchairs. Unfolding from one of them was a man with greying hair cropped close to his head. Glasses perched on his nose, but he peered over them as he held his arms open and embraced Phil in a hug. 

 

“My friend! How good to see you.” He motioned to the seat next to his. “Come, come, sit and let me get you a coffee. I was surprised to get your message so soon; I had heard the expedition leaders were coming in a few weeks.”

 

A waitress brought a white porcelain cup as they settled in their chairs. “Yes, well, it’s complicated,” Phil admitted. “I wanted to thank you for all of your help while I had the chance. I couldn’t have done it without you.” 

 

Cocking his head, the man looked through Phil, his dark eyes wise and deep. “You are not in charge of the expedition? Your Provost put someone else over you? When you have done all the research?” 

 

The rich blend had a heady aroma; Phil took a sip before he replied. “I’m not a part of the team at all.  Pierce believes I’ve lost my edge and aren’t fit for the field anymore.” 

 

“That’s outrageous!” He shifted in his seat, tugging his pinstripe vest down. “He runs after good fortune rather than give honor to those who work for him. Your Alexander is not a wise man.” 

 

“We agree on that point,” Phil told him. “And that’s not the worst of it; he’s given the expedition to John Garrett.” 

 

“Ah. That’s a pointed barb, is it not? Well, I will spread the word to my colleagues; those who remember will encourage their students not to work with Garrett and his ilk. I cannot promise he won’t find workers, though; there are too many who need the money and will ask no questions, unfortunately.” He paused. “You are mounting your own team, aren’t you?” 

 

“It’s best if you don’t know any details,” Phil said. 

 

“I see. So I shouldn’t know that Tony Stark is in town, or that he’s hired that Barton boy and the Russian woman for some trip up to Lake Turkana?” Phil’s friend smiled. “A good choice, if unconventional. The Hawk has his own moral compass, but once he makes a promise he keeps it.” 

 

“That’s good to hear.” Phil breathed a sigh of relief at the confirmation Clint was trustworthy. “Look, I don’t want to put you in a bad position; Pierce has a long reach and lots of friends. I’ll make my own mistakes; there’s already too many people I’ve gotten involved.” 

 

With a chuckle deep in his chest, Phil’s friend replied. “Your Provost doesn’t frighten me; I’m more concerned about you. You carry your own enemy within, Philip; conquer it and nothing will stop you.”

 

“Are you doing your wise man thing again?” Phil  joked. “Please don’t start speaking in riddles.” 

 

T’Chaka, Professor of African History at the University of Nairobi, patted Phil on the hand. “Someone needs to tell you these things, my friend. Now tell me of Tony Stark; how did you convince him to pay for your adventure?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why, yes, that is T'Chaka, King of Wakanda and father of T'Challa. Hmmmmmmm ......
> 
> Street food in Narobi is often sold by ladies who set up shop with plastic tubs of homemade food. The cost is cheap and it's authentic Kenyan cuisine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team get on the trail: Fitz makes everyone laugh, Tony calls Pepper, and Clint makes his intentions plan. Oh, and Phil has a visitor.

“Damn, these bugs are the size of a small dog.” Tony waved his hand, trying to stave off a wave of interested insects. “We could sell them as pets in New York City.” 

 

“I told you not to use that hair gel,” Melinda told him. “Anything with a scent attracts them.”

 

“They don’t like peppermint oil,” Fitz said. “I rub it on my skin to repel mosquitoes.” 

 

“Ah, that’s why you smell like Christmas.” Mack chuckled. “I wondered if I was dreaming it.” 

 

Day two and so far the biggest problem was the sweat and the bugs. Phil’s shirt stuck to his body, the cotton stained under his arms and over his back. Drops trickled past the red bandana he’d tied around his head,  running down the side of face, leaving a trail.  One more time, Phil was grateful he’d kept himself in shape even if it meant getting up at a godforsaken hour and putting up with Nick’s competitive streak. But watching Fitz wheeze and Stark flop into his bedroll that night made it all worth it. 

 

Of course, that meant that everyone else was sweating too, including the man leading the way and Phil was right behind him. Clint’s biceps were wet, tiny drops rolling down the back of his neck and under his collar. The white tank top he had on under his field shirt clung to his skin, and he had a habit of removing his hat to run a bandana through his soaked hair. It was damn distracting. 

 

The drive to Lake Turkana had been uneventful if slow. They’d made good time until the road dwindled to a two lane thread of asphalt filled with ladened trucks and buses that went no faster than forty miles an hour. Phil had ended up in riding with Fitz and Mack in the middle car;  Tripp had the map, so his car, with Jemma and Tony, was the lead. Natasha, Clint, and Melinda brought up the rear. They’d traded the Range Rovers in for a pair of sturdy donkeys, leaving the cars at cousin of one of Mack’s friend’s house. 

 

The first leg of the trail led into the foothills, an easy start to their journey. Phil thought he’d fall onto his bedroll and sleep hard; after all the worry and planning, the hurry up and wait, finally getting on the road should have been a relief. Instead, he’d laid awake, staring at the stars, listening to a fiery-necked nightjar that had a nest in a nearby tree. His fear that there was nothing to find, a low-level hum that invaded his thoughts, kept his brain circling. Add to that the responsibility for all these people and their safety, along with the awareness of one Clint Barton, snoozing nearby, and Phil had a recipe for a long sleepless night. Still, he managed to doze enough to get going when the sun rose, a hit of caffeine pressing him onward. 

 

Today had brought more of the same, the path Clint was following slowly starting to wind upwards. They’d made damn good time, running ahead of Phil’s estimated daily mileage. The vacuum packed lunches Tony purchased made the midday break easy, plus made cleanup a breeze with little garbage to pack up. Now, as the sun was dropping lower, they topped a ridge and got a look at the Turkana spread out behind them, a glittering blue gem in the green velt. As one, they paused and Phil heard a number of satisfied sighs. 

 

“The trail runs flat for about two more miles,” Clint said, motioning ahead. “We should find a relatively flat spot and set up for the night. Tomorrow things are going to get steeper.” 

 

“The first campsite from the Livingston expedition should only be about six more miles.” Phil ran the calculations in his head. “We can afford to stop and do an initial scan, see if it’s worth the time to investigate further.” 

 

“The one near the waterfall?” Melinda asked, coming up from behind. She and Natasha had taken the rear. 

 

“I doubt you find much there,” Natasha added. “It’s a common enough stopping point; many others will have camped there.” 

 

“True,” Phil agreed. “But we have the time. We can at least take pictures of the area.” 

 

Just fifteen more minutes of walking and they came up a shaded area with a small stream running along a low spot, tumbling over rocks, and heading back the way they’d come. Jobs were doled out -- digging and cleaning around the firepit, collecting wood, unloading and tending the donkeys, preparing dinner, cleaning up after dinner -- and, despite some struggles with the donkey Fitz had named Bill, everything went as smoothly as possible. Within an hour, they were seated on logs or rocks, eating the delicious stew Tripp had concocted from the dried ingredients they’d packed. 

 

“Once we set up a more permanent camp,” Tripp was saying. “We can supplement off the land.” 

 

Phil had been surprised when Tripp grabbed his own pack and joined them. It seemed everyone knew he was coming along except for Phil; Melinda explained Tripp was going to handle the cooking and other camp needs.  He had to admit the idea of coming back from a day at a dig to a prepared dinner and a fire already blazing was a great idea. 

 

“Or the animals will snack on us,” Fitz said. “Cheetahs, I hear, roam these mountains.”

 

“They’ll avoid us like the plague,” Mack told him. Sitting together on a log, Mack towered over Fitz. “It’s been a good year for game, so they’ll eat their fill of gazelle and leave a group of humans alone. We’re more of a danger to them.” 

 

“What you really need to watch out for,” Clint interjected, “are the lions.”

 

“No, it’s the hyenas; look like a dog, but in a pack they’re vicious,” Natasha contradicted.

 

“Wildebeest have nasty tempers, but they’re nothing compared to a hungry crocodile.” Tripp added his two cents. 

 

“Come on, people, I don’t live here and I know the most dangerous animal out here is a hippopotamus,” Tony said. “I watch Nat Geo late at night; saw a special on how many people hippos kill.” 

 

“Oh, that’s true, he’s got a point,” Melinda nodded. “I was going to go with Elephants.” 

 

“Actually, the number one killer is the mosquito,” Jemma said. “They pass along malaria.” 

 

“Thank you so much,” Fitz said, swatting at the bugs that surrounded him. “Now I’m never going to get to sleep.” 

 

“They’re pulling your leg,” Mack assured him, nudging Fitz. “Come on, let’s check the radar units. I want to make sure the sensors are handling the rough ride.” 

 

Phil laughed with the others as he gathered up the plates; taking them to the stream, he knelt down and rinsed them in the clear water, using sand to scour anything stuck on the plastic. He made a stack on a dishrag as he finished, humming under his breath; he was tired, but it was the good kind of tired from a day of physical exertion. He’d sleep tonight, of that he was sure. 

 

A low rumble came from the brush on the other side of the stream; green eyes glowed behind the leaves, staring right at Phil. Fur as dark as midnight, long whiskers, ears flicking back and forth -- the panther let out another low growl.  The longer Phil stared, the more grey he saw around the muzzle as the lips curled up, showing sharp teeth. 

 

“Don’t move.” Clint’s voice was calm and steady. “He’s just checking us out. We’ve invaded his turf.” 

 

There was something majestic about the animal, the way his muscles bunched as he crouched, the almost humanlike curiosity in his gaze. Taking long, slow breaths, Phil caught himself staring back and blinked on purpose, not wanting to challenge him. With a loud chuff, the panther spun and leapt away, darting between trees and up the hillside.

 

With trembling fingers, Phil stacked the plate he’d been holding with the others. He blew out a breath as Clint crouched down next to him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Well, now that was an E ticket attraction. Haven’t seen a panther that old in a long time. Bet he had a good 13-14 years on him,” Clint said. 

 

“He was … majestic.” That was the only word that came to Phil’s mind. “Like the King of the mountain.”

 

“The King wanted a looksee.  Don’t blame him; if a group of animals came into my backyard making noise and setting up shop, I’d want to check them out.” Clint picked up the dishes and stood up. “Animal like that,  well-fed and in good health, he’s not going to bother us. He knows we’re a danger to him; I’m surprised he came that close.” 

 

“It was like he was sizing me up,” Phil said. “Thankfully, he decided I wasn’t a tasty morsel.” 

 

“And they say big cats have good eyesight.” Clint bumped Phil, shoulder to shoulder. “You look delicious, if I do say so myself.” 

 

Phil stopped, overwhelmed still by the encounter with the panther, unable to think of a reply that wasn’t too open and honest. So he went with open and honest. “Are you flirting with me because you flirt with everyone? I’m so out-of-practice that I don’t trust my own judgement.” 

 

He regretted the words the second they tumbled out of his mouth; this was what he did, misread signs and ignore the obvious. Flirting was just Clint’s way of being friendly and now Phil had gone and ruined it all. Just like he missed all the hints about John and Grant, he was completely clueless. Still. 

 

“I don’t flirt with everyone,” Clint objected. “But I’m certainly flirting with you.” 

 

“Oh.” He was at a lost for words. “I …” 

 

“Did you see it?”  Jemma appeared through the trees. “A blue tailed monkey almost made off with the garbage bag; tried to snatch it right out of Tripp’s hands!”  She bubbled with excitement. “And Fitz missed it.” 

 

“They’ll do that,” Clint said. “The little thieves are becoming too dependent upon humans. And they have a sweet tooth. No one should feed them or they’ll follow us the whole way, get even more demanding.”

 

“Someone ought to tell Fitz then,” Jemma replied. “He’s waving a granola bar, trying to get it to come back.” 

 

For the next hour, Phil laughed harder than he had in a long time. Fitz ended up on Mack’s shoulders, trying to take pictures of an uncooperative monkey as everyone else cheered him on. Phil wasn’t sure who was having more fun, Fitz who was beaming with happiness or Mack who had a firm grip on Fitz’s thighs and was grinning like a loon. 

 

After answering the call of nature, Phil overheard Tony on the satellite phone. 

 

“I’m telling you, Pep, it was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.  Fitz is this little guy and he was balanced on top of Mack who could give Vin Diesel a run for his money.”

 

Phil paused, not intending to eavesdrop, but curious. Stark never dropped his snark around Phil. Hearing him talk to Pepper was a glimpse into Tony he never thought to have. 

 

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I’m going to have to change up the workout routine; stamina, babe, I need more stamina.” Stark laughed. “You’d like this Romanova woman;  she’s got everything under control. And I think she has eyes for Melinda.”

 

Natasha and Melinda? Phil hadn’t noticed anything between the two. But that wasn’t surprising; Phil was terrible at the whole relationship thing. 

 

“Nah, I’m keeping myself pure, waiting on the right person. The walk of shame would be awkward when everyone in camp was watching. Besides, it’s more fun to watch Phil make eyes at Barton; not that I blame him, the man has a fine ass.” 

 

Moving on, Phil left before he heard anymore.  Last thing he needed was to listen to Tony’s view of Phil’s non-existent love life. He passed Fitz’s empty bedroll; sitting on Mack’s blanket, the two men’s head were bent over a small drone, futzing with the motor. 

 

“There’s something in the water,” Phil mumbled to himself. “It’s the only answer.” 

 

“Answer for what?” Clint said, stepping up beside him. 

 

“Exhaustion,” Phil improvised. “I’m on the last watch so I’m going to crash.” 

 

“Yeah, I’m tired too. Sleep sounds good.” Clint nodded towards Mack and Fitz.  “Mack’s up first. Looks like he’s wide awake.” 

 

With the tiniest wink, Clint sauntered off to his own bedroll, leaving Phil slightly off-balance, the way he’d been since the moment he met Clint. 

* * *

 

Phil’s boot sank into the mud and squelched when he lifted it, the wet muck sucking at the sole. Water dripped off his nose, ran down the back of his neck, and splattered up from the ground. The rain fell in a relentless curtain, a steady soaking that never stopped. The rectangular plastic ponchos turned into saunas, body heat leaving the clothes underneath wet and cheeks rosey red. Most preferred the rain . 

 

The rain had started as they broke camp, a drizzle at first that put a damper on everyone’s mood. All the way to the first possible site, they pulled up hoods and donned hats, ducking their heads against the constant precipitation. Phil had left, disappointed but not surprised to find nothing of worth in what was obviously a well-used clearing. A fire pit was filled with ashes, left by uncaring hikers who hadn’t cleaned up after themselves. Too many feet had trod the ground for anything to be left. 

 

From there, Clint led them onto a smaller trail that wound upwards; next on the agenda, the Lesser Falls was less than two hours away. But the minute they started to climb, the sky opened up and the drenching fall of water began. Almost lunch time, Phil struggled to keep going, the others in a scraggly line behind him, having just as hard a time as he was. 

 

“Sunny Africa, they said,” Stark grumbled, not trying to mask his discomfort. “Land of beauty.” 

 

“Kenya’s not all arid zones. The mountains are quite temperate,” Mack replied. “Plus, it’s the rainy season.” 

 

“Thank you, Al Roker, for that weather report.” Tony swiped a hand through his hair, flipping water onto his shoulder. “How about a new forecast, one that includes the sun?” 

 

“My stomach is rumbling,” Jemma interjected. “Any chance of finding somewhere semi-dry to stop for lunch?” She’d kept her poncho on and hanks of sweaty hair were plastered to her forehead and cheeks. 

 

“The Falls are just ahead; we’ll find an clump of trees to shelter under, maybe fifteen more minutes”  Clint replied, pausing at a curve in the narrow trail to scan the horizon. No more than two feet wide, the path wound up the side of the mountain, a thirty degree angle rising on Phil’s left and a steep drop off on his right. The rain came too fast for the ground to absorb, leaving soggy footing and standing pools to splash through. 

 

“That’s what you said an hour ago,” Melinda reminded Clint. She handled the weather just like she did everything else; with a stoic silence that spoke volumes about her discontent. “I’m about to gnaw Stark’s arm off if I don’t get something better to eat.”

 

“You can eat me anytime you want, darlin’.” Tony winked at her; Phill appreciated the man’s good humor even more. It was good to laugh. “My arm, my leg, my …” 

 

“No, seriously, I can see the mist cloud. Phil? See?” Clint pointed around the bend; stepping closer, Phil leaned out to see around Clint’s wide shoulders. 

 

“Are you sure that’s not a low lying cloud?” Phil couldn’t tell for sure. “It might be …”

 

Solid ground shifted, his foot buckling as half of his weight was suddenly unsupported. The heavy pack on his back tipped; he flailed his arms, the sky above coming into view as he toppled. A hand wrapped around his left wrist, but the trajectory of his fall couldn’t be changed. The ground fell out beneath him, and he was sliding towards the trees below.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't watch Agents of Shield, Fitz has a thing about wanting a monkey. 
> 
> Of course, Stark has a fancy satellite phone capable of phoning home from a mountain in Kenya. It's solar powered too, so no battery problems. Ah, the joys of fiction. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil falls, literally, and finds a clue. Some fluff ahead; be warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up :) And don't worry, I haven't forgotten Garrett and the other expedition.

_ Tree, tree, tree, branch, ouch, tree, roll, breathe, going to die, going to die, tree   _ …

 

Phil’s heavy pack made a halfway decent sled; it skittered along, taking the path of least resistance, following the sluice of water that turned the ground into a slide. No time to think, just react, push away from obstacles, ride out the bumps, and pray. Shouting voices disappeared quickly in the patter of the rain on leaves and the rushing sound of his own heartbeat. Only when the curve of the falls came into view did Phil understand where he was headed; the roar as gravity brought a pouring flood into contact with a stationary pool grew so loud Phil couldn’t hear anything else. He had to act. 

 

The first two branches left red welts as they smacked against his forearm. The third’s slippery leaves were torn from his fingers. With a groan and a heave, he tossed his whole left arm around the next one, using the crook of his elbow to hold on, his fingers clenching his belt and forming a closed circle. The change in momentum rolled him out of the muddy track; his shoulder took the jolt of his stop, twisting and causing a shooting pain down his arm. 

 

A foot appeared, then a body hurtled down the slope, almost passing Phil before he threw his free arm out, latching onto whatever he could. Thank heavens his fingers circled the strap of Clint’s pack, halting his downward progress.  The limb holding them both bent almost double before they came to a stop, wet grass underneath them. Lifting his head, Phil saw a jumble of rock below them, the rush of water they’d been riding disappearing over the edge. 

 

“Well.” Clint coughed and slowly sat up “I was only joking about an E ticket attraction.”

 

An overwhelming urge overtook Phil, and he began to laugh. Chuckles turned to belly laughs before he caught his breath and managed to make it upright on his own. “My question is which one of us is Joan Wilder? Damned if it’s not me.” 

 

“Honey, you are hell and gone from Cartagena.” Clint was laughing too. Mud caked both of their shirts, their pants and their boots. Phil was pretty sure he had mud in his mouth. At least his hat had managed to stay on. “Ow. Seriously. I’m getting too old for this shit.” 

 

Phil had to use a branch for leverage to stand upright; his legs wobbled for a few seconds before he found his balance. “I’m the one who’s looking at the dreaded 4 0. You’re what? 28?”

 

“Try 34.” Clint rolled his head, bending it from side-to-side. “It’s not the years, though. It’s the mileage.” 

 

A series of beeps erupted; Clint dug a hi-tech walkie-talkie from a pack pocket. “We’re alive,” was the first thing he said. “Both of us are banged up but we’re mobile and breathing.” 

 

“Thank God,” Natasha replied, voice loud and clear. “Now everyone can stop making stupidly heroic rescue plans. Hear me?” That last was aimed at the rest of the team. “Any idea how far you slid?” 

 

Squinting, Clint gazed upward then took a few steps to look past the rocks. “How tall are the falls? ‘Cause we’re at the bottom of ‘em.” 

 

“Damn.” Natasha faded out for a second then came back. “Looks like we have to cross up here first. Then we’ll … hold on …” Another short silence. “Melinda says there’s a place just ahead to eat lunch. You scout around down there and see if you can find a trail up. Mack seems to remember there’s one from bottom to top that include some rock stairs.” 

 

“Will do,” Clint replied. “Probably easier if we come to you anyway.” 

 

“Be safe.” 

 

“If I can’t be good.” Clint tucked the device in his pocket. “Okay, let’s see what the situation is then I’m raiding my power bars before we start climbing.” 

 

They found a way over the outcropping of rocks only to be immediately doused with the mist from the falls. The pool, more of an oblong than a circle, churned as water hit the surface, tiny waves rippling out to the point where it narrowed and became a stream that rushed towards the lake far below. The side they were on was layers of stones, tumbled together, jagged in places and worn smooth in others. On the far side, a smooth swath of land led right to the eddies, a perfect watering place for all kinds of animals, although none were present now. They’d made plenty of noise crashing through the underbrush; any creature with any sense had fled. 

 

“Tell me we’ve got another option besides swimming.” Phil couldn’t see anyway across; the current was too strong to ford the river head and the sharp rise of the rocks left no way up on this side. 

 

“Nah, we’ll climb up this side if we have to.” Clint surveyed the area. “First, I want to wash some of this off my hands. Good thing we’ve got a source of water nearby.”

 

Stepping carefully on the wet, rocky ground, they made their way closer to the shore. As Phil followed, he almost lost his balance when one foot dropped into a rut worn in the dirt. Grabbing Clint’s pack, he straightened and looked down. A path wound towards the falls, disappearing behind a pile of boulders. 

 

“Clint,” Phil called. “I think I found a way.” 

 

The rock shielded them from the spray and then opened to a divot in the mountain, outcropping creating an overhang behind the curtain of water. Light drifted in from the opening on the far side and filtered through the water. 

 

“Nice place for a summer home,” Clint said, sliding his pack of his shoulders. “Good eye, Doc.” 

 

Phil winced as he let the straps slide off and eased his pack to the ground; his shoulder ached already and was only going to get worse before it got better. One of the pockets yielded moist towelettes and hand sanitizer. “As long as there’s no T-rex sticking his head in, I’m happy to be out of the rain at least.” 

 

Tossing his hat on top of his pack, Clint ran his hand through his sweaty hair, leaving a streak of mud behind. Phil chuckled as Clint realized what he’d done. “Well, damn. And here I wanted to look my best for you.” 

 

“Maybe I have a thing for mud wrestling.” Phil took off his own hat and wiped his face with his bandana. “You look pretty damn good to me.” 

 

“Why Dr. Coulson! Are you flirting with me?” Clint grinned, catching the towelette package as Phil tossed it to him. 

 

“Trying but failing. Been a long time and I was never that good to start with.” Removing his field shirt, Phil walked to the falls and stuck the sleeve covered with mud into the water. 

 

“Trust me, you’re doing fine,” Clint said. He stripped down to his pants and used a smaller stream that was separated by a craig in the rocks as an impromptu shower, sticking his head under and rinsing his hair and hands. 

 

The movement gave Phil a nice view of Clint’s back and his bulging biceps. He indulged himself with a good long look since he could. Then he wrung out his shirt, draping it over the metal frame of his pack, before he went to work on his face. Dirty towelettes went into plastic bag to be disposed of later. 

 

“Phil?” Clint’s voice was quiet as he reached out a hand towards the long jagged scar in the center of Phil’s chest. Just before his fingers brushed the raised white skin, Clint paused, question clear in his eyes. 

 

The first impulse Phil had was to jerk away and cover the ugly twisted line. For a brief moment, he’d forgotten the harsh lesson learned; he’d let his guard down. Maybe he deserved to see how Clint would react. So he stepped into Clint’s fingers, gave him permission to touch. Calloused tips traced the crooked scar, from the bottom near his belly button to the top close to his heart. The light brush stirred Phil but it was the look in Clint’s eyes, neither disgust or pity, but a curiosity to know more. 

 

“There are layers to you, Dr. Coulson.” Clint didn’t stop at the top of the scar, hand running up to cup the curve of Phil’s neck, his thumb along Phil’s jaw. “So much you keep hidden beneath that mild mannered exterior.”

 

He leaned in and brushed his lips along Phil’s; surprised at the action, Phil froze as the soft, slightly chapped skin mouth covered his own. A gentle touch, slow and easy, Clint’s kiss demanded nothing and gave everything. Breath parted Phil’s lips as Clint pulled back, intently watching Phil. 

 

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Phil whispered, so close he could see three different colors in Clint’s eyes. 

 

“It’s your story.” Clint’s breath puffed in the misty air, drifting onto Phil’s skin. “If you want to, you’ll tell me. If not, well, it doesn’t change the fact I’m attracted to you. We all have a past; I prefer to live in the now. And now I’m going to kiss you again.” 

 

He did, and Phil kissed him back. The roar of the falls would forever be imprinted in Phil’s memory along with the taste of Clint’s mouth. Surrounded by the mountain, they kissed without hurry, no need to do more than explore the contours, let tongues slip inside, and curl fingers around biceps. Oh, Phil wanted; he’d never felt the way he did for Clint, but this, easy kisses and gentle touches, was balm enough. 

 

“...Clint? You there?...” Clint’s radio broadcast Natasha’s voice. “Clint, we found a way down.” 

 

Clint touched his forehead to Phil’s and sighed. “Damn it,” he muttered. “She has the worst timing. Can we continue this later?” 

 

“Later’s good,” Phil replied, not wanting to move. With a groan, Clint stepped away, dragging his palms over Phil’s shoulders before he turned and got the walkie out of his pack. 

 

“Jesus, Nat, let a guy clean some of the mud off, will you?” He groused. “Send Mack down and we’ll be up before you know it.” 

 

“Cleaning up, eh?” Natasha chuckled. “He’s on the way.” 

 

Taking a clean t-shirt from his pack, Phil pulled it over his head, the soft cotton clinging to his wet skin. His lips still tingled, a phantom pressure of Clint’s mouth and a leftover hint of his taste. He knelt down, digging for a couple protein bars, mind awhirl with thoughts of Clint, shining his pocket light into the depths of his pack as he searched. 

 

A flash in the rocky wall caught his eye; he moved his hand and there it was again.  A small crevice, about halfway up, tucked behind one of the outcroppings. Peering inside, he saw a dark rectangle with a glint of gold on top, hidden deep in the shadows. Good thing he’d put gloves in an outer pocket, hoping to find something at the earlier site; snapping on the latex-free pair, he checked the opening, running his hands around the edges before he reached in. Heavier than it looked, the item was covered in oilcloth, protected from the moisture, a simple broach with a symbol pinning it closed.  

 

“You got something?” Clint asked, leaning around Phil’s shoulder. “Here, let me hold the light.” 

 

Carefully, he pulled it out, the surrounding fabric cracked with age. One end flopped open, the brittle material giving way under the pin. Turning the item up, Phil caught a glimpse of wood, intricately carved, worn on the corners and paled with age. 

 

“Looks like a puzzle box,” Clint offered. “Got some years on it.” 

 

“Early 1900s, Chinese, based upon the hanzi letters. Melinda’s going to go crazy over it, even if it probably belonged to a European explorer.” Phil wrapped the box with another t-shirt, gently packing it to carry. “We got time for me to look around some more?”

 

“You’re in charge, you tell me.” Clint grinned. “Anything you want, professor.” 

 

The tingle of pleasure returned; a puzzle to solve and promise to be fulfilled. Phil’s day was looking up. 

 

* * *

 

 

Phil’s shoulder ached; he needed a couple of ibuprofen, which he had, and a soft bed, which he had to without. Sleeping on the ground had been easy on his first dig when he was young and too excited to care about rocks in his back.They’d packed the cots on the donkeys, deciding to forgo them while on the trail, and Phil’s back reminded him every morning he wasn’t a kid anymore. 

 

“Can’t believe you can just go to bed without knowing what’s in that box.” Tony tucked his boots into a waterproof bag, sealing it against the moisture in the air. The rain had continued, slacking into a drizzle, dampening dinner and settling over the evening’s conversation. So they’d strung up waterproof tarps for roofs and laid another on the ground for cover, creating three tents to keep them dry as they slept. 

 

“It’s been there for years, Tony; we can wait for a couple more days.” Phil rolled his neck and listened to the popping of his vertebrae. “The rain could affect whatever’s inside; we can’t take that risk.” 

 

“Risk is my middle name,” Tony quipped, flopping onto his back. “Anthony Risk Stark. Okay, it’s really Frisky, but …” 

 

“You don’t have to do that.” Phil spoke quietly. “Make fun of yourself.” 

 

“Hey, if I don’t …” Tony trailed off. “Well, you know.” 

 

“Yeah, I do. You think everyone leaves, so why not be so annoying they do it sooner?” He’d been watching Stark since they left the States, and the pattern was becoming clear. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

 

“Oh man, don’t get all touchy-feely on me, Coulson.” Tony grinned in the light of the Coleman lantern. “Save that for Barton. I’ll turn my back and just listen.” 

 

“Surprised you didn’t suggest a threesome,” Clint said as he ducked under the edge of the tarp.

 

“Nah, dude, I’m not that selfish. First times should be special. I’ll just lay here and do play-by-play commentary.” 

 

Phil couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Oh, God, I needed that.”

 

“You’re welcome. Oh, and do something about that shoulder. You’ve been favoring it all afternoon.” Tony rolled over on his side, tapping his tablet and pulling up a screen filled with math formulas. 

 

“Shoulder?” Clint dropped down onto his bed roll, dry socks on his feet. “Why didn’t you say something?” 

 

“It’s nothing.” Phil protested. “Took a muscle relaxant and it’ll be fine in the morning.” 

 

“Or it will cease up over night, what with the humidity and rain,” Clint countered. “Off with the shirt, Doc. Let me work on it; I’ve got some salve that will help.” 

 

He probably should object, but he couldn’t resist. Tugging his shirt over his head, he sat cross legged, his back towards Clint. “I won’t turn down a massage, that’s for sure.” 

 

“Mmmmmmm,” Tony hummed, but he didn’t look. 

 

Strong fingers stroked along the line of shoulder blade, the thick smell of menthol tickling Phil’s nose. A tingle along his skin where the salve went to work, Clint testing the muscles as he pressed gently at first then harder as he centered in on the affected area. Digging in with his thumb, Clint bore down on the tender spot. 

 

“Ow.” Phil complained. The sharp pain flared as Clint made tiny circles. 

 

“Breath out,” Clint told him. “It’ll be over in just a second.” 

 

The pressure broke and dissolved; Phil let out a long sigh. “Yeah. That’s good. Right there.” 

 

“I’m working up to the big one,” Clint told him, finding another knot to attack. “That one’s going to hurt a lot.” 

 

“For the release afterwards, I’ll take it.” Already, he could feel the ache dissipating as muscles stretched and untensed. 

 

“It’s a serious knot, but I’ll take care of it.” 

 

A snicker erupted from Tony. “Sorry,” he mumbled “But, damn, it’s like bad porno.” He dug out a pair of earphones from a pocket and connected them to his tablet. 

 

“He has a point,” Clint said, circling the worst spot, easing into it. “You ready?” 

 

“Yeah.” Phil clenched his fingers, hands on his thighs. 

 

The pain was intense, flashing through him; he bit down on the sound that rose in his throat as Clint worked the knot, slowly breaking it apart. Only when it was all gone did Phil sag back, exhaustion overtaking him. His back came to rest on Clint’s chest and Clint’s arm slipped around his waist. For a moment, he stayed there, Clint’s breath huffing over his skin, warmth seeping into his bones. 

 

“You need to drink some water,” Clint murmured. “Hydrate before you sleep.” 

 

“Ummmm,” Phil replied. “I should.” 

 

With a pang of regret, he pushed up and took his canteen, downing a number of swallows of the tepid water before he stretched out on his blanket. Clint turned the light off then laid on his back, his face turned towards Phil. Eyes adjusting to the moonlit night, Phil saw Clint smile; his hand crossed the short distance between them, palm up. Phil wound his fingers around Clint’s, joining them. Then he closed his eyes and drifted off. 

 

* * *

 

 

“I hear you need a pilot.”

 

Tall, that’s what Grant Ward thought first as he tilted his head back to look at the owner of the voice. Her body went up and up, curves accentuated by muscle. Dark hair shaved close to her head, a wink of diamonds in her ears, the woman smelled of confidence and competence. For the first time since Grant had come into this bar, he thought he might have found what he was looking for. 

 

“I do.” He kicked out the other chair, not bothering to stand. She wasn’t that type of woman. “You offering?” 

 

“I can take you to the mountain, drop you at the nearest town.” She didn’t move, just crossed her arms over her chest. “But that’s not what you want. You want to go further, get closer to the others.” 

 

Now that was interesting, Grant mused; she knew more than most. “I do. Can you do that?” 

 

“Aye, I can get you past the foothills, to the lower falls. But after that it gets too rugged to land the chopper.” She eyed him and he felt a shiver of arousal. He did like women who could win in a fair fight. Not that he fought fair. “You want higher than that, you have to parachute in.” 

 

“The lower falls will be fine.” That would put him, at most, two days behind Coulson and crew. “There will be four of us.” 

 

She named a price that was exorbitant but not unexpected. Grant argued her down by a couple thousand and still paid too much, but he was interested now in seeing her at work. 

 

“First thing in the morning be here.” She held out a card with an address. “We leave early.” 

 

“Agreed.” They shook hands and she turned to leave. “Hey, wait, what’s your name? What do I call you?” 

 

“Okoye,” she replied. 

 

And then she was gone. 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The expedition meets an obstacle then discovers their first real clue.

Despite Phil’s best efforts, his carefully laid plan for the expedition went to hell the next day.  Two hours on the trail and they came to a halt. Rocks blocked the way, overturned trees and mounds of mud had come free and slid down the mountainside. The donkeys would never make it, nor were the rocks stable; they couldn’t cross. 

 

Their other option was a steep trail filled with switchbacks, one that Phil had discounted even though it was a more direct way to the Upper Falls. The climb would take two whole days, assuming the best possible scenario, and that meant sleeping halfway up.  Mack had advised against it, unsure if the path still existed all the way. But with the other way unusable, they had no other choice. So they back tracked and turned onto a narrow path that was little more than a furrow filled with mud after the rain. 

 

Even the sturdy donkeys, bred in these mountains, struggled as the drizzle continued to fall. They ate lunch without stopping, sharing jerky and protein bars as they climbed. By nightfall, exhaustion hung like a pall over all of them; they made do with a wide turn, a fairly level spot with a view of the Republic of the Congo in the distance. Space was tight; bedrolls were laid side-by-side around the fire, the donkeys picketed on the trail to graze beneath the trees. Phil ended up between Clint and Tony; he woke early the next morning, Clint’s arm wrapped around his waist, his whole body snuggled up to Phil’s.  Stark merely raised an eyebrow then grinned at the situation. 

 

Day six dawned with clear skies and the sound of the falls in the distance.  They’d pushed through the last hour, making the top of the trial and pretty much falling into their bedrolls after a quick dinner. But Phil felt good, a sense of hope that didn’t make sense. Off map, off track, and ahead of time, they could set up camp and take the time to explore the area. 

 

The familiar smell of coffee tinkled Phil’s nose;  Tripp was already awake, stirring a pot over the fire. He smiled as Phil ambled his way, stepping around the sleeping bodies, picking his footsteps carefully as he climbed up to the next flat space. The mountain grew stacked at this elevation, small areas suitable for a camp alternating as ground rose. Enough for all the tents, a work area and what Phil thought of as the living room. 

 

“Morning,” Tripp said, offering Phil a cup of dark fragrant liquid.  “Thought we could all use a hot breakfast. Uji with honey and custard apples.  I’ll spoon you up a bowl.” 

 

Someone had already brought fresh water; Phil washed his hands and face and dug in.. The apples were tart, the honey sweet and the porridge warm and filling … perfect to drive away the chill of the last few days. As Phil finished up, Clint walked out of the trees, a bow slung over his shoulder, his tight t-shirt showing off his biceps and muscular forearms.  

 

“We’re closer to the falls than I thought.” He unstrung his bow and left it propped against a rock

“The third location you want to explore is about ten minutes to the west and the falls are ten minutes north.”

 

“You found the site?” Excitement sparked in Phil. “This is where they saw the totem stone.”

 

“Well, there’s a clearing and it’s the right GPS location; at least it’s a start.” Clint sat down on the log Phil was using. “You can dig to your heart’s content. I’m looking forward to a cot in a tent for the next few nights.” 

 

“I’m putting up a hammock,” Fitz said, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “For afternoon naps.” 

 

“We won’t have time for naps,” Simmons told him; she smiled at Tripp as she took the bowl he held out. “There’s so much to do!”

 

“I made some chai tea.” Tripp nodded to a separate pot.  “For the non-coffee drinkers.” 

 

He might as well as admitted he made it just for her; Clint cut a look at Phil and winked. Fitz, however, was even worse at reading signals than Phil. 

 

“Oh, lovely!” Fitz grabbed a cup and poured. “Where did we pack the sugar?” 

 

“Here.” Tripp made Jemma a cup and passed it over. “The creamer’s in the green tin.” 

 

“So when do we get started? What’s first?” Fitz bounced on his heels, waking up far fast. 

 

“Unpacking and getting camp set up,” Phil said. 

 

“Then we take a look at that box,” Melinda added, pouring a cup of coffee. 

 

They’d decided on tent sharing arrangements before they left Nairobi;  Phil and Leo got to work on theirs, picking a level spot above the cooking area.  Leo put together the frame while Phil unrolled the canvas; sweating as the temperature began to heat up, the whole affair took less than half an hour thanks to Phil’s experience and Fitz’s enthusiasm.  The cots were just a matter of unfolding and locking into place; smoothing out his bedroll above ground made Phil smile. 

 

Tony had his own tent, along with a mechanism that put itself together with a press of a button.  Only big enough for one, the tent used a small fan to inflate and magnets to hold the struts together. He’d offered to bring singles for everyone, but sharing meant fewer tents and less weight to carry.  

 

Everyone else made short work of their own; Mack and Tripp laughed as they worked, Melinda, old hand at setting up camp, had hers and Jemma’s up quickly, while Natasha and Clint put theirs together in a flash.  Like siblings, the two bantered back and forth the whole time, Natasha giving Clint grief over some past exploit that involved tent stakes and a hole in the canvas. 

 

Then they moved on to setting up the workstations and unpacking the basics; the more advanced equipment they’d wait until needed. An inflatable clean box, one of Fitz’s inventions was first on the camp table; the box went inside and was sealed tight. A washing area with filtering screens, brushes and trowels of different sizes, work belts with pouches, cameras, hand held imagers … Fitz and Simmons wove around each other, laying everything out to their liking.

 

By lunch, the first list was posted, jobs and duties divided among everyone for the next few days. Phil had given himself latrine duty, digging holes and adding the biodegradable enzymes; might as well do the worst job first.  Melinda and Jemma were on workshop duty, organizing and getting started examining the box. Tony volunteered to help Fitz get his gear ready, and Clint took Mack with him to survey the area and create a rough map. They’d also mark trails to the falls and the possible dig site. Tripp got the rest of camp set up and cooking prep, while Natasha built a safety perimeter. Curious animals could be a danger if startled or surprised. 

 

Turning over dirt with the camp spade, Phil had to shuck his outer shirt as he began to sweat. He’d found a spot downwind and away from their water source to hang the curtains and put together the collapsible seats. A pure luxury, the high tech polymer was so lightweight that it added virtually nothing to the total load. The fabric made two private stalls and meant they didn’t have to squat.  Melinda and Natasha had insisted, and Phil was secretly glad. 

 

By the time he finished, Fitz had packs ready; the sun had past the zenith and was tipped towards the western horizon, but they had at least three good hours to check out the site.  Stopping to grab a filled bottle of water, Phil followed Fitz and Stark through the woods, an A in a white circle chalked on trees along the way.  

 

Overgrown and barely able to be called a clearing, the site didn’t look like much, but Phil spied uneven areas of ground that held potential. They could get the measuring done today, maybe even begin laying out the grid. 

 

“I’ve got the far corner,” Fitz said, skirting around Phil. He had a pole in one hand and a small camera in the other. “We’ll set up the imaging resonator first then go for the line of sight.” 

 

“I’ve recalibrated the feed,” Tony replied, driving his pole into the soft earth.  “Don’t worry about getting the location exact; Jarvis can make up for it. Move it, Phil; scientist at work here.” 

 

“What is that?” Phil stepped out of the way; he knew enough about surveying to understand the basics of what they were doing, but the small device Tony had attached halfway down the pole was new to him. 

 

“Jarvis’ eye. A combination camera, projector, and computer interface.  Give me a minute and we’ll have something for you to see.”  

 

Completely intent on the job at hand, Tony tossed out dimensions to Fitz who moved around the edge of the clearing with his camera. Phil had never seen Tony at work like this; the Stark he knew, jokes and self-deprecating humor and self-doubt, was replaced by a fascinating glimpse into genius. Half of what the two said, Phil didn’t understand; their words were a scientific language far beyond Phil’s experience.  Within thirty minutes, they’d measured the whole area.

 

“Okay, connecting to satellites … connect is slow, of course, even with the upgrades … ah, here it comes …” Tony waved a hand and a computer generated image rose in front of them, a glowing representation of the site.  Tilting his hand, the image turned on its side; he swiped the top level away then another, removing trees and bush and ground cover. 

 

“There.” Phil pointed to a stack of rocks buried under a bush. “Could be a cooking pit. And here’s possible garbage disposal.” 

 

“Is that a pathway?” Leo expanded his hands and the image zoomed in. “Their way to the falls? Might be worth following.” 

 

“Can you extrapolate where they found the totem?” Phil asked Tony. “I’ve got vague directions.” 

 

“I’ll feed them into Jarvis, see what we come up with.” Tony grinned, excitement showing on his face. “And we’ll try the new resonance program on those two pits. Might be able to see what’s down there before you dig.” 

 

“Garrett doesn’t have any program like this,” Leo said, bouncing on his toes. “Take that Alexander Pierce!”

 

A fierce stab of pride hit Phil; Fitz and Simmons were more than proving their worth and he couldn’t have been happier.  This time, he’d chosen well. 

 

“I’ll be sure and invite him to the museum opening,” Tony said. “Now, let’s science the shit out of this.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m thinking mid-1800s based upon the aging of the wood. Many boxes like these were brought back to Europe from the Orient by explorers and merchants.  See? It’s a simple lock-and-latch mechanism, not at all like the modern versions.”  Melinda turned the box over carefully;  her latex gloved fingers traced along the seam.

 

“And the markings on the side?’  Natasha said, leaning over Melinda’s shoulder. “ Clearly Chinese, but I can’t make any sense out of them.”

 

“It’s an dialect from a northern province; pretty standard blessing on the bearer of the box and protection for what’s inside. They were designed to house scrolls, manuscripts and books.” Melinda turned it rightside up. “An explorer might keep a map or journal.” 

 

“Well, open this puppy up,” Tony said.  “And let’s see how good the scanner we rigged up is.” 

 

A soft click and Melinda opened the lid, lifting it carefully. Inside, two rocks nestled beside a rolled up, weathered parchment. 

 

“Oh,” Jemma breathed, easing one of the rocks out of satin that crackled at the touch. “I can run an analysis on these. So many fascinating layers to deconstruct. Look.” She ran a finger over a metallic nugget embedded in the rock. “That’s going to be fun to identify.”

 

“Ore of some kind. Mining was top priority for the explorers. Missionary zeal aside, most of them were after profit.” Phil watched as Melinda slowly unrolled the parchment, weighing down the edges. 

 

Swirls of faint colors filled the page, the vibrancy of the paint long gone. Tiny writing wound around the edges, characters smeared in places, lost in others. A cross between an abstract and watercolor, the image made no sense.

 

“More of that Chinese dialect?” Phil gently took the edges and examined the script closer. “An overlay, maybe. Meant to go with another to give a complete picture. We’ll a magnifying glass to make out what it says.” 

 

“Try this.” Tony held the interface over the parchment and, in seconds, a visual version projected in front of them. “Jarvis can do infrared, ultraviolet, any spectrum you want, even translate. Jarvis?”

 

The writing solidified and the gaps filled in; with a shimmer, English appeared. 

 

_ From Baast flows protection, a river of joy, and a shelter of love.  _

_ From Sekhmet comes the path of war, the blaze of fire, and the balm of healing. _

 

“A blessing of the old gods,” Mack said. “There’s many who still follow the old ways; might be a totem given as a gift.” 

 

“Baast is the Panther Goddess, if I remember correctly,” Fitz added to the conversation. “And Sekhmet is the Lion God. The Wakanadians believed they were descended from Baast and their strongest warrior took on the panther’s power.” 

 

“Bastet is Egyptian,” Tony threw out. “Pepper bought a statue a few years back, part of the Maria Stark Foundation collection.” 

 

“The cat goddess is shared by many African primal-indigenous religions; spelling might be different, but it’s the same idea,” Tripp chimed in from near the cooking table. “Could be from any number of tribes in the area.” 

 

“He’s right.” As much as Phil wanted to believe this was a key to help find Wakanda, he couldn’t say without doubt. “We need to keep an open mind and not jump to decisions.” 

 

“So, what’s that?” Clint pointed to a slightly darker area in the box’s projected image. He traced it with his knobby finger. 

 

“Good eyes.” Tony expanded the section, switching to a different spectrum; roughly square the item popped into view. “Under the lining. That’s original.” 

 

“Oldie but goodie.” Melinda picked up her padded tweezers and ever so gently caught the edge of the fabric. So dry it cracked, dust puffing up as she pulled it back just enough to see a brown edge. Then she finessed the small piece of leather out with steady hands.  “Definitely animal skin, tanned and smoothed.  About an inch squared with ragged edges.” 

 

She turned it over and Fitz gasped. A blackened circle was burned deep; inside was the silhouette of a panther, mouth open, ears flicked back. 

 

“The Royal Seal.” Excitement jumped along Phil’s spin, an electrical charge of energy. “The King of Wakanda validates all decrees and documents with it.” 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> taking liberties with Stark's technology, but, hey, why not?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one ever said that archeology was going to be easy. But Phil's feeling positive for the first time in a long time.

“Fitz, you have to be reasonable. We’re scientists; we have to keep an open mind,” Jemma argued.  “The seal could be fake.”

 

“I’m not saying we don’t run tests.” Fitz manipulated the map they’d made earlier in front of him, comfortable in the hammock he’d strung up near the fire.  “And we’re archeologists. That’s different.” 

 

“Oh, I give up.” She turned away, shaking her head. “There’s no talking to him when he gets like this.” 

 

“I’m with short stuff over there,” Tony tossed out. “As an engineer, there’s something to be said for being excited about a project.”

 

“Exactly!  See, if I recalibrate the pixelation and integrate a …” Fitz went on a long roll of technical language that lost Phil after the first five words. 

 

“Whoa, slow down.” Mack walked over to the hammock.  “No need to go Turbo on us. Wanna explain what you’re playing with? I might be able to help.” 

 

Fitz shifted forward, patting the hammock beside him. “Here, climb on. I’ll show you.” 

 

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work,” Mack said, eyeing the thick ropes. 

 

“Rated up to five hundred pounds. Unless you weigh over 350, we’re good.” Fitz grinned. “Now, you know anything about resonant imaging?” 

 

The hammock did hold them both; Phil had to admit it looked like a better seat than the log he was perched on.  

 

“Want to see something amazing?” Clint murmured in Phil’s ear; he stood just behind, so close Phil could feel his warmth. 

 

What PHil wanted was to see everything, but he didn’t dare say that out loud. “Does that line actually work?” 

 

Clint huffed. “OKay, you can wait until the morning to find out with everyone else.”

 

Rising, Phil followed as Clint led the way through the trees. “It’s close to sunset,” he said. 

 

“Not far. I’ve marked the way,” Clint replied. 

 

Not more than ten minutes later, Phil picked his way down a rocky slope and out onto a promontory, a jut of rock that curved around the side of the mountain.  Phil came to a stop, mesmerized by the view. Even as the sky darkened,he could swear he saw the glint of the sea in the distance,the whole span of Kenya laid out before him like a jeweled necklace -- brilliant sapphire blue of Lake Turkana, yellow garnet of the savannah, and the diamond sparkle of the city. 

 

“It’s gorgeous.” The vista took his breath, the last of the staleness that had grown over the last five years. In its place flowed life from the earth around him, the vibrancy of the mountain and the water. 

 

“Phil.” Clint tugged on his shoulder. “Look.” 

 

He turned, and there it was. Rising from the mist, dark stones were poised above the trees, a panther’s head, mouth open, its roar a fall of water pouring from its mouth. Jagged peaks formed teeth, the eyes dark hollows. 

 

“The Panther’s Head. My grandfather told stories about it, the place where the first king of Wakanda prayed to Baast for aid and was gifted with her blessing.”  Everything he’d dreamed it would be and more, Phil had long waited for this moment. “The pictures don’t do it justice; it’s so … so … it belongs here, to this place. It IS this place. The mountain, the panther …” He laughed. “I’m rambling. Sorry.” 

 

“You’re giddy,” Clint said with that little smirk curling the edges of his lips “It’s damn amusing.” 

 

“Amusing, am I?” Phil’s blood zinged in his veins, pure adrenaline charging him up. In two steps, he curled his fingers around Clint’s biceps. “I’ll show you amusing.” 

 

He kissed Clint like a thirsty man drinks water, mouth covering and taking all he could. Phil was waking up, coming alive again after a long dry spell, and Clint was exactly what he wanted. Without hesitation, Phil pressed Clint against the rocky face and brought their bodies in contact.  Past mistakes paled into nothing compared to the feel of Clint’s lips against his, the cant of their hips coming together.  Days of soft touches and longing glances exploded into arousal; Phil’s cock hardened at the same time as Clint’s, the friction of cloth leaving him wanting more. 

 

“Phil,” Clint breathed into Phil’s cheek as he chased the line of Phil’s jaw with kisses. “Yes.” 

 

That word was the key that unlocked Phil’s last remaining reservations; fingers scrabbled with Clint’s belt, unbuckling it and popping open the button of his pants. Soft warm skin met Phil’s questing hand, nestled among curly hair; Clint moaned, dropping his forehead onto Phil’s shoulder. Smoothing the pearly drops that collected on the head, Phil slowly built up a rhythm; he watched his fist slide up and down, listened to Clint’s breathing hitch, and enjoyed the thrum of his own arousal as he brought Clint to the very edge and, then, nudged him over with a gasp and long sigh. 

 

“When you make up your mind, you don’t waste time, do you?” Clint murmured into his neck. 

 

“I haven’t felt this sure in a long time,” Phil replied, turning his head to catch Clint’s mouth for a long, deep kiss. “No more being afraid of what I want.” 

 

“Good.  I find that very hot.” With ease, Clint flipped their positions and dropped to his knees, making short work of Phil’s button and zipper. “Or maybe it’s just you.” 

 

Phil dropped his head down as Clint licked along the underside of his cock; blue green eyes glanced up, lust darkened and pupils blown wide. Clint’s mouth was warm, his tongue swirled, and Phil’s muscles clenched tight. Too long since he’d felt such a powerful orgasm rising in his gut, Phil couldn’t stop it even if he’d wanted to. All too soon, he wound his fingers into Clint’s hair and thrust, coming with a strangled sigh.

 

“Hey.” He caught Clint’s shoulders and helped him stand. “Come here.” 

 

He tasted himself as he leisurely swiped his tongue along Clint’s lips; they kissed as the shadows lengthened then Clint pulled back and gave Phil a crooked grin. 

 

“You know, I can kick Natasha out of the tent -- she owes me -- and I’ll take you apart slowly,” he offered.  When Phil hesitated, he continued, “Or we can do the awkward dance around each other and pretend that we didn’t just get each other off.”

 

“Not much of a dancer, so let’s call this the beginning and see where it goes. We’ve got time.” Last thing Phil wanted to do was ignore this feeling -- lighter, less stressed, calmer.  

 

“Yeah, I like that.” Clint put himself back together. “Gonna make plans, though. For when I do get you naked.” 

 

“I might have my own.” Chuckling, Phil zipped up his pants; he glanced over to the falls.

 

Blue flashed in the empty eye sockets of the rock panther, the water a tumble of silver Thunder rumbled and Phil swore he hear the cry of a big cat in the distance. 

 

“Did you…” he asked. 

 

“I did,” Clint answered. “It’s a trick of the light; the sun’s setting and I bet there’s some ore in those caves.”

 

“If you say so.” Phil wasn’t all that convinced; enough of the little boy at his grandfather’s knee still survived to want to believe it was more. “I’m going to watch out for black cats though.” 

 

They climbed the slope and started back, joking the whole way.  Just before they reached the camp, Clint caught Phil’s lips in a quick kiss. “I’m going to walk the perimeter before turning in. See you in the morning.” 

 

Pausing at the tree line, Phil’s smiled as he saw Mack, seated on one end of the hammock, his knees bent and legs hanging over the sides, and Fitz, cradled between Mack’s legs, resting against Mack’s broad chest. Tablet in front, Fitz’s fingers were dancing across the screen, Mack occasionally helping with the hand that wasn’t resting on Fitz’s thigh.  From the fire, he heard a chuckle; side-by-side on a log, Tripp was listening intently to something Jemma was saying, her hands moving as she spoke.  Their shoulders and knees were close enough to touch, only inches between their faces as they leaned together. 

 

“Seems everyone’s pairing off,” Melinda said, stepping up beside him. 

 

“Everyone but Stark,” Phil replied.  Tony’s tent was zipped closed, glowing from the light inside. “How’s that for a role reversal?” 

 

“Don’t change the subject.  You have that look, the blissed out smile you get.”  She wigggled her eyebrows at him. “Someone got lucky.” 

 

“I saw the Panther’s Head,” he told her. “It’s real and it’s not far from here.”

 

“Well, now isn’t Barton smart? No flowers or chocolates, he wooed you with a waterfall and some rocks.” 

 

“And what strategy is Natasha using? You sparred with her yet?” Phil poked back at his friend; they knew each other too well. 

 

“Not yet. Soon. Very soon.” She winked then walked away. 

 

Happy. That’s what that strange lump in his throat was; it had been far too long since he had felt so light-hearted. With his luck, it wouldn’t last. 

* * *

 

“There’s no way I’m taking that trail at night. If you want to kill yourself, go right ahead, but you’ll do it without me,” Okoye declared. Hands on her hips, she glared at Grant, her dark eyes flashing. 

 

“We’re paying you a shit ton of money; you’ll do what we want.” Brock Rumlow, one of Garrett’s hired men, was going head-to-head with the imposing woman, arguing about their course of action.  

 

After Okoye landed the helicopter, they’d discovered a landslide that blocked the main path;  thanks to Phil’s exhaustive research, Grant knew of the alternative method to get to the Upper Falls.  Okoye, however, had warned against attempting the climb tonight, preferring to wait until the morning. 

 

“You’re paying me to get you to your destination safely,” she shot back. “If you don’t want to take my advice, fine.”

 

“How long will it take us to get to the top?” Grant interrupted before Brock could get any angrier. Why John like Rumlow so  much, Grant didn’t completely understand.  Brock was good at following orders and providing security, but he was a blunt instrument when it came to dealing with other people.  The plan was to try talking first; Rumlow defaulted to fists far too quickly. 

 

“With just the five of us, if we leave at first light, we’ll be there by 9 or 10 the next day. We’re not burdened with supplies and animals as they were, plus the rain will have slowed them down.” Okoye looked at the darkening sky.  “If the weather cooperates, that is.  There’s the smell of more rain in the air.” 

 

“Smell of rain, my ass,” Rumlow grumbled, but he backed away with a hard glance from Grant. 

 

Rumlow’s partner, Jack Rollins, sneered, his scarred face twisted in distaste.  Even more of a loose cannon than Rumlow, Rollins followed Brock like a faithful dog. His choice would always be what Rumlow wanted. The other member of their small team, a Kenyan who went by the Anglican name of Charley, was unreadable, his lithe body dwarfed by the big pack he carried.  Charley had signed on to the expedition early; a graduate student in African History, he spoke English and was fluent in a number of the languages they could expect to encounter.

 

“And if we start now? Can we be there by tomorrow?” Grant pressed. 

 

She shrugged. “Maybe. Assuming no one takes an awkward step or gets drowsy and slips. But more likely we end up having to stop to sleep either way.” 

 

The firepit they’d found told them they were only a few days behind Phil’s team.  “Knowing Phil, they’ll stay near the totem site. He’ll be deliberate about mapping and excavating anything they find. We’ll sleep here tonight and start early. Odds are they’ll be waiting for us at the top.” 

 

Brock didn’t like it, Grant could tell, but he was hired muscle and Grant was the Team Leader of this expedition. Rumlow had to do what he was told. Still, the weight of his pistol made Grant feel more secure when he turned his back to unstrap his bedroll. Underestimating him was something he could use if push came to shove … and Grant had a hell of a shove when he needed it. 

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to excavate another foot. We’ll be below the stratum and able to come up from the bottom, maybe that way …” Fitz knelt by the small hole dug in the earth, carefully sifting through every bit of dirt around the opening. 

 

“It’s not here, Fitz. The totem, if there ever was one, is gone,” Jemma said, a hint of frustration in her voice. “We need to face it. This site isn’t going to yield any measurable data.” 

 

“You don’t want it to,” Fitz snapped back. “That’s why you’re giving up so easily.” 

 

“That’s not fair.” Jemma walked a few steps away, turning her back. “I …” 

 

“Warned me not to get my hopes up; yeah, I know, you told me so.” Fitz threw down his trowel and stood up. “I’m done.” 

 

Thunder rumbled overhead as dark clouds scuttled across the sky; humid air pressed in around Phil, his skin slick with sweat.  No rain had fallen despite the ominous signs of a storm approaching and Phil was on edge waiting for it to come. They were all walking on eggshells; a day that had started with promise turned for the worse as six hours of digging had turned up nothing to the point that Phil was questioning if they even had the correct site.  Too many other expeditions had explored this area; the camp could be the remnants of any one of them. 

 

“Leo,” Phil called after him. “Don’t give up; this is how things go. Long spans of nothing with a few minutes of excitement.” 

 

“Let him go,” Melinda said. “We’re all feeling it today. I honest-to-God wish that it would just rain and get it over with.” 

 

“Tripp and Mack got into it after breakfast; I don’t know what about, but it was heated for a few minutes.” Phil had overheard the angry whispers and gone back to his tent rather than intrude. “You and Natasha didn’t seem all that happy, either.” 

 

“A disagreement about camp security, that’s all.”  Melinda shrugged but her eyes narrowed and Phil knew the signs of her temper. The women had butted heads and gone their separate ways about midday. “Stark’s little fit about his precious computer was the main attraction.” 

 

A problematic relay had Tony stomping around the camp, shouting at his phone, arguing about buying another satellite.  If he hadn’t been so angry, Phil would have laughed at the insanity of it all … tossing around money like that was so foreign to Phil’s worldview.

 

“We should move on.” Melinda picked up her tools. “There’s one more site before we get to the final area. Maybe that will help everyone’s mood.” 

 

“There’s lots of reasons why the totem wouldn’t be here. Earthquake, mudslide ... hell, it could have been removed by artifact scavengers.” Phil was arguing more to himself than Melinda. “Landscapes change.” 

 

“Now you sound like Archeology 101.” Mel actually worked up a slight grin. “X never marks the spot, eh, Dr. Jones?” 

 

He laughed; Harrison Ford, he wasn’t. “Let’s go break the news; we’ll pull out in the morning.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember something like the Panther's Head in the Avengers Assemble old TV show, the really good one. So I popped it into the plot.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's not in the water, but in the approaching storm. Frustration and anger break when the rain begins to fall, and Phil gives in to his desires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex, sex, and more sex. This is the calm before the storm ... next chapter, the shit hits the fan.

Thick and black, the clouds roiled like boiling water, hovering in sky just beyond the mountain, a storm in the making, awaiting the wind to blow it the direction it was going to go. Electricity built in the humid air, tension stretching Phil’s nerves to near the breaking point. They all danced around each other, handling the heavy air pressure in their own ways.  Jemma and Leo snapped back and forth, Melinda grew quieter than usual, and Tony talked non-stop.  Dinner time was littered with conversational landmines which, unfortunately, they didn’t manage to avoid. 

 

“Well, I’d rather be too close than unfeeling,” Fitz said, standing up. “So excuse me for caring.”   He dropped his empty plate on the table and stormed off, crawling in the hammock and turning his back on the others. 

 

“I’m not saying …” Jemma started to say; Melinda laid a hand on her knee. 

 

“Enough,” was all Melinda said, the undercurrent in her voice silencing any reply. 

 

Thunder punctuated the word, rumbling closer. Phil fought the urge to hunch his shoulders and close his eyes;  the sudden desire to crawl in his cot crept into his bones.  Rising, Mack crossed the clearing and joined Fitz in the hammock; Leo leaned in, resting his shoulder against Mack’s broad ones, not lifting his eyes as he kept tapping on his tablet. 

 

“The storm comes from the East,” Tripp said, covering Jemma’s hand with his own. “Some tribes tell the story of when the Baast’s bloodlust was so great, she didn’t stop at the end of a battle. Her cries became thunder, her sword strikes were lightning, and her anger the clouds. No one could get through to her, nothing stopped her indiscriminate killing.  Only when her sister, Sekhmet, sent the West Wind to blow the storm away, bringing the cleansing rain that would give root to new life, did the Cat Goddess turn from violence. The people celebrated at the height of the storm, dancing and singing the praises of their protectors.”

 

“And, if I remember correctly, when the Lady of the East sends a storm, a lot of babies are born nine months later,” Natasha added. “Bastet, in Egypt, is the goddess of pregnant women.” 

 

“As many a child is conceived when soldiers come home,” Tripp agreed. “Rain creates fertile lands; baby booms happen after war.”

 

“And here I thought it was in the water,” Tony said. “Me, I’ve developed an immunity.” 

 

“Are you comparing love to poison?” Natasha rolled her eyes. 

 

“I’m talking about sex, dear Romanova. Lust. Animal magnetism.” Tony grinned and gave a tiny tilt of his head in Melinda’s direction. “In the immortal words of Tina Turner, what’s love got to do with it?” 

 

“And that would be why you’re sleeping in the single tent,” Phil said with a laugh.  “I’d have gone with you can’t hurry love.” 

 

“Nah, Meatloaf. I’d do anything for love,” Mack tossed out. “But I won’t do that.” 

 

“Split the middle with I”ll make love to you, like you want me to.” Clint stepped out of the trees, swinging a leg over the log and sitting down next to Phil. 

 

Everyone laughed and the tension cracked; even Fitz chuckled, looking up from the projection he was studying.  Just then, a monkey darted down the branch to perch on the hammock’s side, fascinated by the red lines. 

 

“I’ve no food for you, so don’t start begging,” Fitz said. It chittered back, cocking its head and swishing its tail. “Alright, we can swing.” 

 

“I thought love was only true in fairy tales …” Tony started the song; Clint joined him, a strong beautiful tenor voice. “And then for someone else, but not for me.”  By the time they hit the chorus, everyone but Melinda and Natasha were singing along. Even the monkey was jumping up and down in time to the beat. 

 

Conversations began again; a different kind of strain filtered into Phil’s awareness. Clint was leaning forward, his palms flat, fingers splayed to balance his weight. Just inches between Phil’s pinkie and Clint’s; all he need do was shift and they’d be touching.  Such a small thing, that strip of skin, but Phil’s thoughts fixated on Clint’s warmth, the curve of his smile, the errant curl of hair, and the flex of forearm. Maybe Tripp’s closeness to Jemma or Mack’s hand on Fitz’s waist or Melinda’s toe tapping Natasha’s stirred Phil’s senses. Or maybe it was the wind that whipped up, clouds breaking and pushing their way. Phil almost believed the storm did hold some sort of power. 

 

So close. Phil gazed at Clint’s profile -- rough stubble on his jaw that would prickled against Phil’s fingers, the long line of his neck that begged to be kissed -- and he thought of sliding his hand along the inseam of Clint’s pants, of feeling the weight of Clint’s cock in his palm. Slow kisses, gentle touches, quiet exhalations … he was on the edge of spontaneously combusting. 

 

Jerking his eyes away, he looked across the campfire; Natasha raised an eyebrow, knowing gaze coupled with an uptick of the corner of her mouth. Phil saw the question there, but he had no answer. Why didn’t he get with the program? Everyone else was.  Melinda leaned back against Natasha’s leg, dark hair fanned out around Natasha’s stroking fingers. Jemma’s hand was on Tripp’s thigh as she murmured in his ear; his eyes sparkled as he listened. Mack had his arms around Fitz’s waist, his chin resting by Fitz’s ear as they played with the display together. Maybe he should …

 

A gust of wind whipped through the trees, rattling the stacked plates and blowing the package of towelettes off the table. Fitz’s monkey squeaked as the hammock rocked; one of the tent flaps fluttered in the second blast of cool air.

 

“Better batten down the hatches,” Melinda said, standing up. “Looks like the storm is finally here.”

 

Everyone scattered; bins needed to be stowed and secured, tables collapsed, tent stakes checked.  The equipment was a priority; Leo and Jemma, their earlier sharp words forgotten, worked in tandem to make sure neither rain nor wind would get to the cases. The puzzle boxes and its contents were Melinda’s job; she careful packed them in a waterproof container and slipped it into her tent for safe keeping.  

 

Phil helped Mack unrolled the plastic shields for the top of the tents, an extra layer of protection. The thin sheets allowed the water to slough off a good few inches from the base and were angled towards the back. By the time they finished the last one, the wind had picked up into steady gusts.  

 

A crack sounded from the darkness, followed the sound of flapping material. 

 

“The latrine curtain.” Phil had forgotten.  “I’ll get it.” 

 

“You need help?” Mack asked. Phil waved him away; it was really a one man job anyway. 

 

One bottom end had come loose and was almost vertical, caught on a current.  Phil ducked under the canvas and worked at the first knot of rope; scraping his fingers on the nylon, after too long, he got it untied  Three more took longer than he expected, he had to wrestle the fabric as each panel was untethered, collapsing them into smaller bundles.  The stuff kept escaping as he fiddled with the rope with his fingers and tried to hold on to the curtains, pressing them between his arm and his torso.  But he finally made one big bundle and wrapped it with rope, securing it to a nearby tree just as the first fat drops began to hit the ground. 

 

Lighting flashed; Phil counted five seconds before the roll of thunder sounded.  Darkness crawled from the trees and bushes as the waning rays dimmed, sun dropping behind the horizon. He turned back to camp and a second bolt lit the path; hunched close to the ground, the dark shadow sprang away, leaping past Phil on his left and darting into the woods. Gold gleamed around its neck; gems sparkled as it disappeared, leaving Phil to wonder if the big cat had been real or his imagination. He’d about decided he was seeing things when the donkeys huffed and neighed; when Phil checked on them, they were huddled together under a weave of branches and leaves that bore the hallmark of Clint’s work. Too calm to be threatened, the animals settled immediately when Phil petted their necks, snouts sniffling at his pockets, looking for treats. 

 

It was fully dark by the time Phil left the animals; the rain sputtered, heavy drops hitting his shoulders then turning to a light drizzle before falling harder again. The shifting patter of water hitting the tarps and dropping to the ground covered his approach as he came to his tent and hesitated.  Clint’s tent was not far; Phil could tap on the pole, get his attention and … what? Ask Natasha to leave? Where would she go? The situation was far from ideal, little space left in the original arrangement of sleeping spaces. Not to mention the small cots and the logistics of two bodies balancing on them. Plus, he hadn’t packed any supplies; condoms and lube hadn’t been on his list of things to bring. Impromptu blow jobs were one thing … hell, they should have used protection for that … but anything more was out of the question without the right equipment. So, he talked himself out of following the demands of his other head. The rain picked up its pace and they were moving on in the morning, so a good night’s sleep would serve Phil well. 

 

Before he untied the outer flap, Phil heard a long sigh followed by a low murmur. Easing back the edge of canvas to reveal the zippered mosquito netting, he peeked inside. Lying flat, eyes closed and lip caught between his teeth, Leo moaned; his hand twisted around the side of the cot and his feet were on the ground, thighs splayed open.  Between them, Mack bent his head,  muscles playing under the taut skin of his back, gleaming in the glow of the lantern. With his hands looped under Leo’s thighs, Mack’s head rose and fell as he wrung sounds from Leo’s mouth 

 

The juxtaposition of dark and light skin hit Phil right in his gut; his cock stirred and he quickly shut the flap. Heat flushed his body, and arousal fairly sizzled along his skin.  Counting each exhale and inhale, he brought himself under control; there was no question of entering the tent.  With Mack here, Tripp would have an extra bed.  With that his only conscious thought, he stumbled to the second tent, brain filled with the image he’d just seen. 

 

Something made him pause, a sound or a feeling, taking a quick look before he went further. Tripp sat on his cot, Jemma on his lap.  Phil could see the fall of her loose hair, the curve of white panties around her hips, her thigh muscles moving as she made tiny circles, rubbing against Tripp’s black boxers. Tripp’s hands held her tight, splayed across the small of her back; only the top of his head was visible, his mouth obviously busy with Jemma’s breasts. With a gasp, she arched, dropping her head back. 

 

“Oh, yes, that’s it,” she told him in a heated whisper. “Just like that.” 

 

Two steps back and Phil almost lost his footing. His pulse thrummed in his cock, the sounds of pleasure drowned out by the rain. He shivered, his wet clothes doing little to settle his rising libido. Melinda, he thought; she’d let him in and not laugh at his state. Not much, anyway. Her tent was below the common area; Phil slid on the wet trail twice before he stopped, not daring to throw the flap open without a glance. 

 

Both women were in their underwear and tank tops, breast free beneath the thin cotton. Two sets of thighs straddled the cot, Natasha behind and Melinda in front. Mel’s hair spread over Natasha’s left shoulder, leaving Mel’s neck bare for Natasha’s lips to trace the muscle with kisses. One of Natasha’s hands cupped Melinda’s breast; the other disappeared beneath the waistband of her panties. 

 

Call it Baast or Sekhmet or Fate or what you will, but all paths, literally, led to Clint’s bed and he gave up fighting the inevitable. On automatic, he let himself into Clint’s tent, zipping the netting shut behind him. 

 

“You’re soaking wet,” Clint said, putting aside the book he was reading and standing up. “What one earth have you been up to?” 

 

Just like that, Phil laughed, the whole chain of events turned to a comedy sketch. “Long story,” he said, shucking off his camp shirt and draping it over the one stool. “Suffice it to say that my tent is currently occupied and so is all the others. Seems like you’ve got the only empty bunk to be had in the storm.” 

 

“Ah, well, I thought there might be some of that going on tonight.” Clint’s smile crawled across his face. “I was half-hoping you’d decide to join me for other reasons that no port in the storm.”

 

“Oh, I could have made Tony share.” Phil put his boots in the corner and unzipped his pants. “Actually, you were my first thought, but I talked myself out of it. You know, team leader setting an example, ecetera, ecetera. That was the old Phil’s way of thinking. This is the new Phil.” 

 

“Have I mentioned how much I like the new Phil?”  Clint’s eyes tracked every motion of Phil’s hands. “Not that the Coulson I met in the bar wasn’t hot … I’m suddenly feeling overdressed.” 

 

“You can do something about that,” Phil told him. “I didn’t bring any supplies, but …” 

 

Clint toed his pack out from under his cot; from an outer pocket he drew out a strip of condom packages and a small tube. “After dinner at the hotel, I tossed some in. Just in case.” He kicked his pants off, tossing them onto the other bed. “You got a plan? Or are we making this up as we go along?”  

 

“I’m off-book,” Phil admitted. “Although burying myself deep inside you until I’m lost sounds good.” 

 

“Damn, Phil.” Clint closed the distance between them. “Let’s get lost together then.”

 

Lips met, and Phil wasted no time curling his hands around Clint’s hips, tugging him in close.  Step by step, he backed Clint up; Clint tugged off his shirt, stepped out of his briefs and laid down. He bent one knee, foot flat on the cot, and let the other fall off the side. Lifting up on his forearms, he smiled, blue grey eyes gone dark. 

 

Phil shimmied out of his boxers, put a knee between Clint’s legs and levered himself onto his elbows. So close that their breaths mingled, Phil hung above Clint for a span of heartbeats, memorizing the lines of his face, and then he kissed him, first a mere brush the settling into a gentle exploration. Swooping into Clint’ smouth, Phil tasted and savored; he settled in the vee of Clint’s hips, gave a slow roll, and swallowed down Clint’s goan in response. 

 

The line of Clint’s jaw beckoned; he rubbed his cheek along Clint’s stubble and nibble on his earlobe before kissing down his neck. Clint gasped as Phil used his own five o’clock shadow to roughen Clint’s nipple. With a flick of a tongue, he worried the nub to hardness, closing his mouth around it. He brushed the edge with his teeth, responding to the sounds Clint made, discovering sensitive spots to focus on. 

 

“You’re killing me,” Clint murmured. 

 

“I haven’t started yet,” Phil replied. 

 

Chasing the line of dark blonde hair, Phil followed it down, sliding his knees back and his feet off the end of the cot. He’d imagined the weight of Clint’s cock against his tongue, a perfect velvety softness, but the reality was far better. Closing his eyes, he slid the head past his lips, sucked off the drops that had collected, and swirled his tongue around. The warm weight filled his mouth as he curled one hand around the base; with his other, he gave a gentle tickle to Clint’s balls and caressed the tender skin just behind, drawing his finger along as he tightened his lips on the way back up. 

 

“Oh, hell,” Clint murmured, arching his back. “So good, Phil.” 

 

Phil kept the rhythm easy and slow, working Clint up slowly, feeling each jerk and jump as he grew harder and harder.  He let his fingers wander; slick gel greeted his tentative first touch and one slipped in easily without any pressure at all.  Looking up, mouth still around Clint’s cock, he arched an eyebrow. 

 

Clint chuckled and the reverberations tickled Phil’s tongue. “If you hadn’t shown up here, I was going to come to you.” 

 

Ready for him, Clint dropped his legs open even wider, canting his hips up as Phil sank two fingers inside.  He crooked them and found what he was looking for; beneath him, Clint bucked and gasped and cursed and begged for more. 

 

“Let’s get lost together,” Phil said, reaching for a packet and rolling on a condom before he pushed into Clint’s heat. Slow and steady, he eased all the way ; clenching around his cock, Clint groaned. Phil stayed there for a few breaths, reveling in the clench of Clint’s muscles that held him tight. Then he began to move, a roll of his hips, a slide out and in, and he began to thrust; leaning forward to change the angle, Phil saw Clint’s smile.  

 

“Come here.” Clint’s hands curled around Phil’s neck and tugged him down into a kiss. 

 

Too much. Like sensory overload, all Phil knew at that moment was Clint. Clint’s mouth, Clint’s hands, Clint’s thighs, Clint’s warmth. Breaths that stirred Phil’s hair when he dropped his forehead onto Clint’s shoulder. Tiny moans that punctuated each thrust. Fingertips that would leave bruises as reminders. Whispered words in his ear that urged him to go faster, harder.  

 

It was all too much. Phil’s hips stuttered just before he came, his orgasm rolling through his body. Then he wrapped his hand around Clint’s cock and it didn’t take long before Clint came with a breathy sigh of release. 

 

After Phil took care of the used condom, he collapsed, half on Clint’s chest and the rest of his weight on a slim stretch of cot. Tipping his chin up, he kissed Clint, languid brushes of lips and light swirls of fingertips on skin, until sleep began to drag down his eyelids. Resting his head on Clint’s shoulder, Phil drifted; Clint traced the scar on Phil’s back, his thumb running along the curved line. 

 

“A Carthaginian sword. I was lucky; it bent under the pressure of my weight. Missed my heart and just barely punctured my lung,” Phil murmured. The ache was long gone, even the phantom pains that had plagued him for two years.  

 

Clint’s fingers paused then resumed their steady stroking. 

 

“I got distracted, turned my back at the wrong time.” A faded memory, the burn of anger not even an ember now. Lying with Clint, a symphony of rain outside, the moment lost its hold on him. “Nine months of rehabilitation and five years out of the field.” 

 

Taking Phil’s hand, Clint ran Phil’s fingers over a crescent scar near his hip bone. “A scimitar. I ran into a bit of trouble in Cairo.”  Slightly higher was a round dimpled area. “Bullet. Thirty-ought-six rifle. Right time, wrong place.”  Below his collarbone was a zig zag where the skin had been ripped by something dull. “Pottery shard. Surprised a tomb robber in Peru.” 

 

“You trying to tell me you haven’t always been on the right side of the law?” Phil cracked his eyes open. “I know; Tony told me. Not like I haven’t bent a few rules in my life.” 

 

Clint chuckled. “Run a red light now and then, do you?” 

 

“I wasn’t always Professor Coulson.”  Phil pinched Clint’s shoulder. “You don’t have a corner on the bad boy thing.” 

 

“Tell me you had a pair of leather pants.”  Clint’s hand slipped down and cupped the curve of Phil’s ass. 

 

“Do I detect a kink, Barton?” Phil brushed a lazy finger over Clint’s bicep. “Not only did I have black leather pants that laced up the side, I had leather chaps. For the bike.” 

 

Clint’s groan rumbled up from deep in his chest. “Damn, Phil. I’m going to be jerking off to the image of you wearing nothing but chaps.” 

 

“You’ll have to let me watch.” Phil stretched and dragged the blanket from the foot of the cot up to their waist. “But it will have to be after I sleep. I’m not a young pup anymore.” 

 

“We should at least put on pants for when Nat gets back,” Clint half-heartedly suggested. 

 

“She’s with Melinda, and I doubt she’ll leave before morning. Jemma’s with Tripp and Mack’s with Leo,” Phil told him. “Baast must be very pleased.” He suddenly remembered. “Thought I saw her tonight, black panther with a jeweled collar. Too many damn shadows.” 

 

“Well, if she’s going to be roaming the Earth somewhere, my money would be on these mountains.”  Clint shifted, making them both more comfortable. “Probably a good omen; rather have her blessing than her curse.” 

 

“Mmmmmm.” Phil was drifting, his body relaxed and growing warm. “Don’t have to worry about fertility at least.”

 

“You’d be a good father,” Clint mumbled. “I can tell.” 

 

“Go to sleep,” Phil told him. 

 

“See?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeping Phil!!! I had to find a way to show the others inflagrante delecto, so Phil got his eyes full. :))) You'd think he'd learn after the first one just to listen, but, hey, it's pretty hot. :))
> 
> Watch for the arrival of Grant and Rumlow in the next chapter. Some discussions and machinations then the action starts.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to pay the piper. The Douche Bros arrive!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm done early this week! Enjoy!

Phil couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent a lazy morning in bed much less curled up on a camp cot with a very handsome, very naked man, listening to the rain patter on canvas. He’d planned to pack and hit the trail but the storm lingered until noon. Needing little convincing, Phil readily agreed when Melinda tapped on the tent flap and told him everyone had voted to put off leaving. Clint’s lips on his inner thigh helped make the decision quickly. 

 

Despite mud splatters on their pants and dismal grey skies, everyone’s mood was high as they finally emerged to survey the damage. A few storage bins had toppled over, and one tent had developed a small leak in the corner, but for the most part, they’d escaped any major problems. Mack had checked in on the donkeys early, making sure they were fed and had fresh water. The only one unhappy was Tony; he stomped around, grumbling about needing coffee, barely looking at the others. 

 

“What crawled up his ass?”  Natasha asked as Stark passed her, the first of the black brew in his mug. 

 

“Nothing!” Tony turned and told her. “You think last night was fun for me? Listening to the oh, oh, oh, yes, yes, yes, right there, do it to me! Gah, now I know how Rhodey feels when he travels with me.”  He stopped in front of Fitz and handed him a jump drive. “Here. I worked out the kinks in the ultraviolet imaging program. Plus I think I’ve got a handle on manipulating the data bits for easier overlays.” 

 

“Wow.” Fitz, already sporting a grin that spread across his face, bounced up and down. “That’s amazing, Mr. Stark. I can’t wait to get a look at it.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah, well I didn’t have a big handsome dude in my bed, so I had the time.” Even as he groused, Tony’s face lightened.  “And, FYI, I’m not adverse to sharing. That goes for everyone here. I’m an equal opportunity pansexual. Just sayin’.”

 

“How did you solve the fragmenting problem?” Mack, like everyone else, ignored Tony’s offer, assuming it was joke. Phil, however, wasn’t so sure. “We tried condensing the code …” 

 

“Flattening. Make them sequenced abstract types and implement them as a linked list.”  Get Tony talking about science, and he was in his element. “We can pack a ton more data … Fuck. That’s it.”  Spinning on his heel, Tony dashed back to his tent without another word. 

 

“So, we moving out today?” Tripp offered Phil a cup of coffee. 

 

“The next section of the trail is pretty rough; with the rain, it will be a muddy mess,” Clint said, snagging his own mug. 

 

“The weather is clearing, according to the radar,” Jemma offered

 

“We could give everything time to dry up,” Melinda suggested. She never gainsaid Phil in front of others, but her opinion was clear. 

 

“So we leave in the morning. We can make another foray to the falls, map things out better from there,” Phil decided. “Be ready to pull out first thing.” 

 

“I’ll grab the camera,” Fitz said, jumping up. “With Tony’s enhancements, topology mapping will be a breeze.” 

 

Chittering and high pitched howls echoed as branches shook all around them; monkeys swung through the trees, a better warning system than any technology. A woman stepped out of the woods, striding towards them, ignoring the animals around her. She was tall, every inch of her muscled and toned, her hair shaved close to her scalp.  

 

“Shit,” Natasha murmured, stepping up beside Phil. “Not good.” 

 

Behind her came Grant Ward; Phil stiffened at the sight. He hadn’t seen Grant in the five years since the break; Ward had slimmed down, his cheekbones sharper, his face more angular. A hardness haunted the familiar blue eyes; gone was the young student who yearned to know more.  Whatever had happened in the intervening time hadn’t been kind to Grant. 

 

“Fuck.” Clint’s muttered curse came from Phil’s other side. “Fucking hell.” 

 

A third man stopped beside Grant, his dark eyes fixed on Clint. Scars puckered the skin on one side of his face, tugging the edge of his lip up in a macabre grin. Black shirt, black pants … he had a thigh holster strapped to both thighs, hilts of a matching pair of pistols tucked inside. Close cropped black hair gleamed with mud; his whole left side was covered in a half-dried brown layer. The gaze he used to survey Phil’s team was filled with undisguised loathing. 

 

Two more men appeared; a bulky blonde even filthier than the man glaring at Clint, similarly equipped with guns and knives, and a young African, carrying a pack much heavier than the others on his slim shoulders, hanging back from the rest. 

 

“Okoye.” Natasha broke the silence with the name and a slight nod. 

 

“Romanova,” the African woman replied with an equal movement of her head.  

 

“Barton,” the scarred man spat out. 

 

“Rumlow.” Clint made the word sound like a curse. 

 

“Phil.” Grant took one step forward. 

 

“Grant.” Phil was proud that his voice was calm and even. 

 

They stared at each other for a long minute. 

 

“Hold it. Nobody move.”  Tony stood in front of his tent, his phone in his hand. He swiped his finger across the screen and, suddenly, the music from The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly began to play. “A real life high noon needs a soundtrack.” 

 

“Now’s not the time, Tony,” Melinda told him. 

 

He ignored her, strolling over to the woman. “Well, hello, gorgeous. And here I was praying to whatever god would listen to send me someone to keep me warm on rainy nights. How about you and I …”

 

“No,” Okoye said without taking her eyes off of Natasha. 

 

“But you haven’t even heard …”  Tony tried again. 

 

“No,” she repeated. 

 

“I am shit out of luck lately,” Tony groused. “So are we going to rumble?  I can cue up West Side Story if we need it. When you’re a Jet,” he sang, pausing at the end of the line. “Or how about Beat It?”

 

“Mr. Stark.” Grant turned his way. “While I appreciate your attempt at levity, I have to agree with Dr. May.  Now is the time to talk;the trustees aren’t happy with the situation.” 

 

“No, I imagine they’re not.” That was an understatement, PHil thought even as he agreed. “Pierce should have thought of that before he made his stupid-ass decision.” 

 

“Exactly. Look, John doesn’t want this to be a competition. He talked to Alexander and they both agree that you should have been included from the start. Pierce is willing to overlook your violation of the handbook and school protocols and let you and your team join our expedition.  You’ll get credit like always.” Grant had always been good at talking; that’s what made him a successful instructor and a great presenter at conferences. It was also how he’d managed to make Phil believe nothing was going on between John and him for far too long. 

 

“Join the expedition,” Phil repeated. “Me and you and John. Like the old days?” 

 

“You always were the brains of the operation.” Grant was smiling now, but it didn't reach his eyes. “I’ve missed working with you.” 

 

“If you believe that line of bullshit,” Clint said, breaking into the conversation. “I’ve got some beachfront property in Kazakhstan to sell you. Brock Rumlow doesn’t sign on to dig up old bones and stones.  He’s only in it if there’s a profit to be made … or some dirty work needs to be done.”

 

“Be careful what accusations you sling around, Barton,” Rumlow, the scarred man, said. “You’ve been known to rob a few tombs in your day, boy.” 

 

Clint’s fingers clenched into fists but he held his ground. “And you’re known for mysterious accidents on your teams. Somehow you and your butt buddy Rollins always make it back though.” 

 

“Shut your mouth,” Rumlow growled, surging forward.  Ward put out an arm and stopped him. 

 

“Enough. We’re here to make peace, not drag up old grievances,” Ward said. “Obviously there’s history between you, but this is about Dr. Coulson and his people. Leave it, Brock.” 

 

Sullen, Brock retreated, his stare dagger-sharp and not at all appeased. 

 

“Peace? We’re supposed to believe that?” Fitz spoke for the first time, his voice shaking. Mack slipped his hand on Fitz’s shoulder. “You’re a two-timing traitor, Grant Ward. I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

 

“You can turn around and go right back down the mountain,” Jemma added, Tripp beside her. “Fall off the edge for all I care.”

 

“I know, I deserve your anger, but we have to put the past aside, for your sakes. The board’s already started proceedings to fire both Phil and Melinda, and you two are to be brought up to the student ethics committee,” Grant said. “There’s no reason to destroy your careers, not when there’s a simple answer.”

 

“And we’re supposed to believe you?” Melinda hadn’t moved an inch, her face turned to stone. Only Phil knew of her short fling with Ward, an alcohol fueled celebration that ended up with him in her bed for three nights. She called it her one monumentally stupid decision, half in jest and half from remorse. “Have you learned not to lie every time you open your mouth?” 

 

“I told you they wouldn’t go for it,” Rumlow told Ward. He scratched his scalp, showering flakes of mud onto his shoulders. “Send ‘em packing and let’s get on with it.” 

 

“Is that what the guns are for? In case we refuse to leave?” Natasha asked. 

 

“You should accept fate and return to Nairobi,” Okoye replied. “I don’t want to make you move.” 

 

“You can try.” Natasha straighten her shoulders, her body dropping into a loose limbed stance, preparing to fight. 

 

“As much as I like a cat fight as much as the next guy, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Tony held up his phone and projected a  document for them all to see. “This little piece of paper … well, it’s not paper, but you get the idea … says that we have every right to be here. In fact, it gives up prima facie claim to any finds; my lawyers assure me it’s all official and everything. Oh, and here’s the permission from the World Heritage Convention for use of the land. And another from the Congo, the Interior Ministry of Kenya …”  

 

“The legal documentation is all in order,” Ward agreed. “But a reputation is a different thing, Stark. I’d think you’d understand that better than most.”

 

Tony froze, the smile dropping from his face. “Oh, you did not go there, did you?” 

 

“Bad move,” Mack said in a stage whisper to Fitz. 

 

“Very bad,” Fitz agreed with a sage nod. 

 

With a few taps, Tony had the phone to his ear. “Pep? Hey, yeah, I know what time it is there but this is important. I need everything you can get on Grant Ward. Yeah, that Grant Ward. And call up the trustees of Culver; they need reminding how much money the foundation donates. Make sure they understand if they mess with Phil or Melinda or Fitz or Simmons just what they’d be giving up. Thanks, darlin’.” 

 

“Mr. Stark,” Grant began. “There’s no need to overreact …” 

 

“Overreact?”  Tony raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest.  “This is calm for me. Right, Phil?” 

 

“I appreciate the support, Tony, but let’s hold off on raining Stark hell down on anyone.” Phil tried to bring the situation under control, emotions threatening to spin into a dangerous confrontation. “Grant’s offer is on the table; the least we can do is discuss it.” 

 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Fitz objected. “The answer is no.” 

 

“Fitz. Your opinion is noted, but we’re going to let everyone have a say.”  He turned his attention to Grant.  “We need some time to think it over. Just us. We’ll have a decision for you in the morning.” 

 

“Of course.” Grant nodded to Rumlow. “We’ll find a campsite nearby; I’ll be happy to get out of these dirty clothes and get a decent night’s sleep. Even with a tarp, I was soaked to the bone last night.” 

 

“There are eddy pools from the falls; I know a good place to set up.” Okoye broke the stalemate, shifting her pack and take three steps. She looked at Mack. “Look near the cowpea clusters if you need to find us.” 

 

“In the morning then,” Grant said before he followed the guide.Looking back, Grant said to the others, “Let’s go. Brock, Jack, you’re on tent set up; Charles, you have k.p..” 

 

With a glower, Rumlow passed close enough by Clint to bump his elbow.  “Watch your back, Barton,” he muttered. 

 

Circling around Phil, the young African stopped first in front of Mack. “Good to see you, Alphonso.” 

 

“You too, Charles. Didn’t realize you were signing on for this expedition.” Mack drew himself upright, nodding to the newcomer. “I thought you were away at school.” 

 

“Life experience is the best instructor.” With a quick grin, Charles looked towards Tripp. “That’s what your grandmother always says, Antoine.” 

 

“Indeed she does,” Tripp agreed, tugging at his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles. “If you need an help with dinner …”

 

“I can manage a decent dengu.” Charles laughed. “I’m not completely hopeless.” 

 

“You’re always welcome around my fire,” Tripp said, switching to a language that was closer to Xhosa than Swahili. Phil only understood the meaning because the phrase was a ritual hospitality greeting. 

 

“As you are at mine,” Charles replied before switching back to English. “Although the others might not agree. Don’t worry; Okoye and I can handle ourselves.” 

 

“Of that, I’m sure,” Mack replied. 

 

A silence descended as Charles left; Natasha spoke first after some minutes had passed. “I’ll run a perimeter check; Mack, can you find out where they went? We need to watch our six if we want any privacy.” 

 

“On it.” Mack disappeared into the trees, Natasha right behind him. 

 

“You think they’ll eavesdrop on us?” Jemma asked out loud. 

 

“Yes.” Clint’s answer was short and to the point. “Especially Rumlow or his pal Rollins. Don’t let yourself be alone near them, neither you nor Leo.”

 

“Why us? You think they’ll try to sway us to their side?” Fitz dropped down onto a log. “You don’t have to worry about that. No way in hell am I going anywhere with Ward.” 

 

“That’s not what Clint means,” Jemma explained, sitting next to Leo. “He’s worried they’ll hurt us. Use us to put pressure on Phil.” 

 

“Mack and I will keep an eye on them,” Tripp promised.  “Nothing’s going to happen on our watch.” 

 

What Phil wanted was to drink his coffee and think about what to do; what he got was a babble of voices that all began arguing at once. 

 

“I can take care of myself,” Jemma insisted. 

 

“You can’t be seriously considering the offer.” Melinda rounded on him. 

 

“They’ll make us do all the work and take the credit,” Fitz burst out.

 

“I’m calling my friend at the World Heritage Convention. She’ll pull their permit,” Tony announced.  

 

“Stop.” Phil had to raise his volume to be heard. “We can’t make any knee-jerk reactions.” Everyone quieted. “Clint’s right; more than our jobs are on the line.  We really have only two options; quit or join them.”

 

“Ah, no,” Tony objected. “I’m financing this dig and I vote we keep going. The rest of their team is still in Nairobi. We’ve got days head start.” 

 

“You honestly think Rumlow is going to let us go on?” Clint shook his head. “He’s got orders to either babysit us until Garret gets here or follow us all the way back.”

 

“What’s he going to do, kill us?” Fritz scoffed. “The whole team just up and disappears? That’s crazy. Sure, people die on digs from disease and wild animals and falling into pits and such like that, but lining us up and shooting us? Smacks of paranoia, Clint.” 

 

“And if he threatens to hurt Jemma? Or Mack?” Natasha said, emerging from the trees. “How fast will you back down? Go back to your Provost and complain so he can tell you you’re making up reasons for failing?” 

 

“That’s ridiculous. Threats, guns, deaths? This is not an Indiana Jones movie,” Jemma insisted. 

 

Phil exchanged a glance with Melinda. “Two students died on the last expedition I went on with John.  The school covered it up because there were too many questions.”

 

“What?” Fitz’s head came up. “I heard they were sleeping together and got sent home.”

 

“No, they didn’t do their work and failed out,” Jemma said, shaking her head.  “They … did someone kill them? Grant? Oh my God.”  Trembling, she stepped back into Tripp’s arms. 

 

“Their deaths were ruled accidental,” Melinda said in her calmest voice. “But that’s why we have to be careful now.” 

 

“We’re sure as hell not giving up,” Tony declared. “No way I’m letting that weasel Pierce win.” 

 

“So slip away under the cover of night? Okoye’s good; you can’t outrun them,” Clint argued.

 

“Okoye isn’t part of Garrett’s crew,” Tripp said. “My word of honor; she won’t help Rumlow. Neither will Charles.”

 

“See? That just leaves three of them,” Fitz said. “We can take them.” 

 

“No.” Phil had heard enough; no one else was going to put themselves in harm’s way if he could help it.  “This is my problem; as much as I appreciate all the anger on my behalf, but I can’t let you throw your careers away for me. That’s why I want you to go back to Nairobi and fly home. Mel, you can fight the trustees; marshall Nicky and Jasper and Maria to back you. Tony, work on revoking John’s permits and use your publicity department to get the word out. Fitz, you’ve got the surveys and the maps we’ve already downloaded. Work on those.  Simmons, analyse the rocks, see what that ore is. Clint and Natasha can see you all safely on your way.” 

 

“Phil. What about you?” Melinda asked, her voice quiet. 

 

“I’m going to stay here and go with the expedition,” Phil declared. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to weepingnaid for the perfect title for Grant and Rumlow. :)))


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil should have known his self-sacrifice play wouldn't fly with the others. At some point, he completely lost control of the situation ... they make a breakthrough and things take a turn for the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hold on to your seats. Some big reveals coming in the next two chapters!

“I was looking for a view of the falls. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Grant said, pausing a few feet away from Phil. “You talked so much about the Panther’s Head, I wanted to see it for myself. I’ll go.”

 

He’d retreated from the ongoing discussion that didn’t have a happy ending, looking for a quiet place to hear his own thoughts. The ledge had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now Grant was here and Phil could put off facing his past any longer.

 

“The best vantage point is by that rock.” He pointed. “Better at sunset or sunrise, but still pretty damn impressive.”  

 

Grant sighed when he saw it, the spray of water catching the light and casting rainbows in the air. The eyes were deep black, afternoon lengthening beneath the chin. Baast in all her glory, mouth open in a roar, extending her protection to the mountain. A phrase echoed in Phil’s head: “a river of joy, a shelter of love.”  

 

“It’s amazing. You’d think the rock would erode but it’s exactly like the pictures from the 1800s.” Excitement animated Grant’s face. “That alone is worth the climb up, mud and all.”

 

“Why are you here, Grant?”  Phil asked. “Cut the bullshit and tell me what you’re up to.”

 

“Ever the pragmatist.” Grant chuckled; he sat down on the rock. “I’ve actually missed your warnings and straight talk.” He stared out at the vista for a few moments. “Fury went to bat for you with the Trustees; rounded up your friends and a bunch of alumni to speak on your behalf. Pierce got his head handed to him for not giving you the expedition in the first place; a few of the trustees want an investigation and the last thing Pierce needs is light shown in certain areas he’s been keeping to himself. If he can tell them that you’re joining Garrett, then he thinks he can keep a lid on the situation.”

 

“Nice to know I have friends.” Part of Grant’s story rang true; Nick was a master manipulator when it came to the system. And Pierce hiding things? Phil had always suspected that to be the case. “But I sincerely doubt John would agree to me coming on board. Or Melinda for that matter.”

 

“He’s not exactly thrilled.” Grant shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know what he’s thinking these days. We’re not together anymore. Yeah, I know; karma’s a bitch.”

 

“But you’re his dig leader.” Phil parsed every one of Grant’s phrases, looking through and in between the words. “And you have no love lost for me either.”

 

“I am capable of change, you know,” Grant objected. “My therapist tells me that I have to learn to own my mistakes and ask for forgiveness but not expect to receive it. Damn hard to do, but I’m making inroads. I was a complete and utter asshole to you. No excuses, no sob story. For that, I am sorry. I hurt a man who was nothing but good to me for no reason but because I let my dick rule my brain.”

 

At a loss for words, Phil wanted for the familiar ache; walking in and finding his star student in bed with his lover was a betrayal of the highest sort. But it didn’t come. All Phil felt was a wistful sense of history, a chapter of his story that was over and done with.

 

“That was a long time ago, Grant.” With each word, Phil felt better about his decision. “I can truly say that I’m happy you’re in therapy and working through your issues. Best thing to do is let it go”

 

Grant tilted his head and squinted his eyes, surveying Phil’s face. “Are you sure you’re Phil Coulson?” he asked. “You really have moved on, haven’t you?”

 

“Yeah, I have. Question is if John has.” That was the rub; John Garrett was not known for his forgiving nature. Phil had pretended not to see Garrett’s dark side, believing he could change him, temper his excesses. That was a mistake Phil wasn’t likely to repeat. “Or am I going to be stabbed in the back at the first opportunity?”

 

“Wakanda’s a big prize. You remember how John was on that Carthage dig? He’s ten times worse at the thought of proving the kingdom exists. Not to mention the stories of gold and gems just waiting to be mined.” Grant stretched his arms and stood. “Only assurance I can give you is that Pierce has Garrett by the short and curlies. Garrett is talking about it, and Pierce is the one who made him hire Rumlow. If Pierce wants you on the dig, John will have to deal with it or risk Pierce’s wrath.”

 

“So you think I should give up and go home.” Phil got the message loud and clear.

 

“It’s the safest course of action.” Grant paused. “How much do you know about Barton and Romanova?  They’re not just guides; ask them about Budapest and San Paolo. Best to know who you’re in bed with.”

 

As a parting shot, it was a good one; Phil was left wondering if Grant was fishing for a reaction or was trying to sow seeds of dissension in the team. Maybe he should warn Clint about Grant’s tendency to covet other people’s lovers, but he suspected Clint would see right through Grant’s machinations.

 

“Tell me you didn’t believe that line of bull.” Clint sat down beside him. “I mean, he’s pretty good, but that was classic misdirection.”

 

“Actually, he always grounds his lies in the truth, so maybe three-fourths is genuine. Question is, which three-fourths.” Phil bumped his shoulder into Clint’s. “How much of it did you hear?”

 

“Most of it; I came in at the part about him being an asshole for stealing your boyfriend. That was a good line.” Clint looked straight in Phil’s eyes. “You buy it?”

 

“Not for a second. I’m not sure either John or Grant are capable of remorse.” Phil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “How I didn’t see it sooner, well, that’s my part in what happened.”

 

“He’s right about one thing; you’ll be in constant danger if you go with your plan. Garrett isn’t known to be a forgiving type and Rumlow …” Clint stopped; his eyes going distant. “My brother died on an expedition with Rumlow. An accident.”  He squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t prove it, of course, but I know he was murdered. Barney had this map … he was always looking for a get rich quick scheme … and a crazy story about a mine full of unknown metal worth millions. I should have gone with him, but he didn’t want me along. I think he suspected Rumlow would turn on him.”

 

Phil interwove his fingers with Clint’s, saying nothing because there was nothing to say.

 

“Somewhere in these mountains is Barney’s body, and I’ll never find him.” Clint gazed into the distance.  “After our parents died, it was just the two of us; Barney had his problems, but he was the only family I had. I can’t …”

 

“I understand,” Phil told him. “I’ll feel better knowing everyone’s safe with you; I know you’ll get them back to Nairobi.”

 

Turning to face Phil, Clint shook his head. “No, Phil, I’m going with you; I’m not losing someone else.”

 

“You don’t have to … Clint, I can’t ask you to do that.” Stunned, Phil’s thoughts jumbled, gratitude mixed with guilt and worry. “I mean, I know we’re … but I don’t assume ….”

 

“If you don’t want me …” Clint jumped in. “I can’t let you go alone.”

 

“I want you,” Phil admitted. “I just, I mean, you’re not obligated …”

 

“That’s not why …”

 

“...  it’s asking too much to …”

 

“... it’s about protecting you …”

 

“... help clean up my mess …”

 

“... damn it, Phil …”

 

“... If you get hurt because of me …”

 

“... I won’t let you get hurt if I can help it …”

 

“... I’ll never forgive myself.”

 

Silence for a second and then they both chuckled together.

 

“I’ll feel better if you’re with me,” Phil admitted.

 

“I’ll feel better if I’m with you,” Clint told him.

 

“I guess it’s settled then.” There was more Phil wanted to say, but Grant could be standing just beyond view, listening to everything they said. “You know what, there’s still time to go to the top of the falls today.”

 

Clint stood and pulled Phil up with him. “You going to ask me about Budapest?”

 

“You’ll tell me if you want to.”

* * *

 

“No way am I letting the two of you hie off with Garrett and Ward by yourselves,” Melinda said.

 

“No way WE are letting you two go,” Natasha corrected. “Mack and Tripp can take the others down the mountain.”

 

“Clint, back me up on this.” Phil was tired of arguing about the plan.

 

“I learned a long time ago that Nat always wins,” Clint said. “Best to just let her do it her way. Usually works out for the best.”

 

“Damnit, I’ve lost control of this team,” Phil muttered.

 

“Yeah, well, we’re coming too,” Fitz declared, hands on his hips and Jemma by his side, nodding along. “No way we’re tottling back like children sent to our rooms. You’re going to need us; there’s safety in numbers.”

 

“No. Just no. I’m not putting any more people in danger …” Phil tried to argue but Tony cut him off.

 

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting the douche bros win.” Tony waved his tablet. “I’ve got the fragmenting issue figured out; hey, Fitz, you know that idea you wanted to try? Pidgy-whatever?”

 

“Pidgeotto, yeah.” Fitz’s face lit up. “On it. The top of the falls should work, don’t you think?”

 

“I do think. Grab your gear and get the big guy to haul it for you. We can be there in under twenty minutes.” As if Phil wasn’t even there, Tony hurried over to his tent. “What did we decide, a five pound limit?”

 

“Seven if we stretch it.” Fitz ran off in a different direction.

 

“They can’t …” Phil stopped, the argument already lost.

 

“You do engender loyalty, I’ll give you that,” Melinda said.  “Go on up to the falls with them.  I’ll stay here and guard the camp.”

 

“Anybody else want to come along?” Phil asked the group in general. “Might as well pack a picnic too.”

 

“We can do that,” Tripp said. “Or I can stay here and start the stew.”

 

“I want to collate data and make backups,” Jemma added. “You go and enjoy the calm before the storm, Phil.”

 

“I’m coming,” Natasha stated; the look she exchanged with Clint was pointed. “Give me a second to grab my gear.”

 

“We were never going to let you go alone. Fitz is right; we deal with this as a team, we have the best chance.” Catching a glimpse of Fitz juggling three cases, Mack smiled fondly at the scientist. “Guess I better get the pack out.”

 

They were barely five minutes out when Tony pulled his phone out and swiped the screen. “Okay, we can talk now. Jammer’s activated within a 25 foot radius; even if they’re using next gen tech, they can’t hear.”  

 

“Paranoid much, Stark?” Clint asked; he was in front, leading the line as they wove their way through the trees. “Careful there; you’re starting to sound like Nat.”

 

“Can’t be too careful; you’ve got your tomb robbers and I’ve got hackers and spies. Ears are everywhere,” Tony replied.

 

“Damn it, Stark,” Natasha said from her place in the rear. “Don’t make me like you.”

 

“I live for the moment you agree with me, darlin’,” he drawled.

 

“That’ll be a cold day,” she muttered.

 

“Now, as I was saying, it’s all about collapsing data. Run the linked data chains into a tight spiral and then …”

 

“Simple words, Tony,” Phil insisted, stepping over a fallen branch.

 

“You have no sense of the dramatic, Coulson,” Tony groused, but he swept his hand over his tablet and the image from the box appeared, hovering about chest height.  “If this is one layer of the image, I got to wondering if we could reconstruct the rest, reconstitute the complete picture. A little bit of fiddling and …” he paused, coming to a stop. “Voila!” Expanding from the center, the image spread into a topographical map, complete with altitude and depth. “It’s extrapolated, of course, and not exact; if I had more time I could add details, make it sharper …”

 

“There’s the falls.” Clint pointed to the very spot they were heading for. “But I don’t recognize this.”  His finger passed through another rocky craig, one that should be visible from the top of the panther’s head. Feline in shape, the mountain rose up like a cat seated on its hind legs, forelegs straight and head held proud.

 

“Old maps weren’t always accurate,” Phil explained. “They were drawn from memory or from line of sight; rivers ran the wrong way, distances were off. This could be an example of geographic myth, a land formation that doesn’t exist but so many people believe it does that it was included.”

 

“Why layer it this way?” Fitz asked, craning his neck to get a better look. “What use would one layer be?”

 

“Probably meant to be a set,” Phil replied. “A way to give depth to the map, or an artist style of the era.”

 

“So, no help?”  Tony visibly deflated. “And here I thought I’d discovered the Lost Ark of the Covenant or something.”

 

“It’s a great find,” Phil assured him. “One of a kind.”

 

They started walking again; Tony tucked the table in his bag, sticking out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. “Well, damn. No sex and no clue. So this is how it feels to be normal.”

 

He kept up a running monologue as they picked their way up to the crown of the rocks, the point where the trees fell away and there was nothing but rock and a view that went on for miles. Phil stared, the land spread out like a patchwork quilt of colors, and the enormity of it all, from hearing Pierce’s decision to this quiet moment before things fell apart, settled on his shoulders like a weighty mantle. His grandfather’s voice echoed in his memory.

“If you close your eyes to facts,” Phil murmured. “You will learn through accidents.”

 

“No accidents for you,” Clint said. “I think the fall from here would kill you even if you hit the water.”

 

“It’s an old African proverb,” he said. “Seems fitting, don’t you think?”

 

“Hey, we’re going to walk to the north a bit, around the upper ridge, check out where that geographical myth is on the map,” Fitz announced. “Anyone else want to come?”

 

“Nah,” Tony answered, tapping on his tablet. “Here, take a copy with you. I want to climb down and see if those eyes are caves. Blow my last few hours here doing a little spelunking.”

 

The panther’s eyes that flashed in the sunset; Phil remembered those. “I’m with Tony; maybe we can get close to the underground river.”

 

“Don’t fall in,” Mack called as they started off. “Mudslides are one thing …”

 

“I’m never going to live that down,” Phil complained.

 

“Welcome to my world.” Tony grinned.  “I think I saw a way down on the southern side.”

 

A small path, complete with notched steps in the rock, wound haphazardly from the crown to the eye.  Slick with the mist of the falls, they took their time, stepping carefully and holding onto the face of the mountain. Clint was first; nimble, he had an incredible sense of balance, slowing only to ensure the others were staying with him.  Phil, on the other hand, had to deepen his breathing and focus on the flat outcropping at the end; he wasn’t afraid of heights, not really, but this pushed too close to be comfortable. Tony next, snapping pictures with his phone as he went, explaining that the rock blocked his signal and he could post them to his twitter feed immediately. Taking up the rear, Natasha descended with the grace of a dancer, hardly bothered by the narrow way.

 

What looked like an eye socket was actually an overhang with a curved wall that scooped into the mountain. The roof sheltered them from the spray and muffled the thunder of the river rushing beneath their feet.  Rocks tumbled in piles; a thin sheen of wet covered the whole cave.

 

“There’s a passthrough to the other side,”  Clint said, poking his head thru and pulling it back. “Looks roughly the same size as in here.”

 

“There’s something here.”  Light flared as Tony held up his phone. “Looks like some of that cave art Pepper made me watch a documentary about; I think the foundation funded it or something.”

 

“Kenya has a wealth of rock art; Namoratunga isn’t far from here. Geometric animal shapes are common.” Phil peered at the faint marks. “I’m betting this is a panther.”

 

“A formation like this, people probably came from miles around. Baast herself providing life giving water.” Clint paused, glanced over at Phil. “You think the writing on the map is about the panther’s head.”

 

“Protection, joy, and love.” Phil pointed to the symbols etched below the big cat.

 

“We’re missing Sekhmet,” Natasha said. “War, fire, and healing.”

 

“Pretty sure the war’s found you,” Rumlow said from the opening. Rollins was a step behind him; both had their guns in their hands. “Now pass over your tablet, Stark, and give me the key.”

  
  
  
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When facing the end of a loaded gun, Phil's given a difficult choice.

“Give me the tablet,” Rumlow ordered. 

 

“So much for Grant’s offer of peace,” Clint said, stepping towards Phil. Near the lip of the overhang, Natasha shifted onto the balls of her feet, easing towards Tony. 

 

“Don’t move, Barton.” Rollins’ smile was edged with malice. “Or do. I’d love to take your whiny little ass out of the equation.” 

 

“Going to arrange for another accident or four?” Clint sneered. “How are you going to explain that to your employer?” 

 

“Pierce?” Rollins spat out the name. “Who do you think gave us our orders? You don’t know jackshit about what’s going on, asshole.” 

 

“Shut up, Jack,” Rumlow hissed. “All we need is the key and we’ll let all of you go.”

 

“We don’t have any key,” Phil insisted. “We haven’t found anything …”

 

“A wooden box with two rocks, a map and a symbol of Wakandan royalty. Stark ran it through his computer and you found the lock.” Rumlow grinned. “You think we’d let you leave Nairobi without knowing exactly what you were doing? The porn was a bonus.” 

 

“Son of a bitch.” Natasha growled, low in her throat. “You’re one sick twisted fucker.”  

 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a little kink. Girl on girl is mine.” Rumlow winked. 

 

“But no one knew we were in Kenya until we started asking questions. Ward wasn’t even in the country.” It didn’t make sense to Phil; to plant a bug, they’d have to have done it in Nairobi. 

 

“Oh, Dr. Coulson. We’ve been looking for Wakanda for years,” Rumlow said. “Outgrew our original charter, outlasted the Third Reich, and we’re still here.”

 

“Third Reich? Hitler?” Tony laughed. “You’re Nazis? Does that mean you know where the Holy Grail is?” 

 

“HYDRA.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “You’re HYDRA.”

 

“That would explain why Rumlow’s such a shithead,” Clint said. “Oops, I mean skinhead.” 

 

“HYDRA’s not real,” Phil objected. “No more than Steve Rogers being part of a secret science experiment. It’s all a myth.”

 

“And we like it that way.” Rumlow chuckled. “Makes doing business much easier if no one knows to look for us.” 

 

“John’s part of some secret Nazi society?” Phil shook his head. “The man hates following orders.” 

 

“Doesn’t matter if you believe or not,” Rumlow said. “Ward may be an ass, but he’s got us closer to the vibranium than we’ve ever been.” 

 

“Vibranium’s just a bedtime story Howard used to tell,” Tony said. “If a metal that strong existed, Dad would have found it and I’d be even richer.  You’re chasing a fairytale.” 

 

“Maybe, maybe not.” Rumlow’s finger tightened around the trigger. “You willing to die for nothing more than an old map?”

 

“Jesus, Brock, this is insane. Why don’t you …” Clint began.

 

Gunfire echoes, the whine of the bullet blew past Phil and dug a chip out of the wall.

 

“Let’s get on with it.” Brock leveled his gaze at Tony. “Tablet.”

 

“Fine.” Tony threw up his hands. “But I’ll have to unlock it. Got level three security on this puppy and only I can get you in.”

 

Brock jerked his head in a small nod; Tony swiped across, typed in a series of numbers and letters, and flattened his hand on the screen. The light brightened then it dimmed before going dark. 

 

“Oops.” Tony shrugged. “Seems I accidentally wiped the hard drive. Oh well, mistakes happen.”

 

“Not a problem. We’ve got tech guys who can find the data. Hand it over.” Brock reached for the computer; Tony bobbled it, letting it slip through the fingers of one hand and into the other before he casually tossed it over the edge; it disappeared into the waters below. 

 

“Oh, look at that. That’s too bad.” He gave one of his shit eating grins. “Guess you’ll have to go fish.”

 

“You think we won’t find the original at your camp?” Brock raised an eyebrow and rolled one shoulder. “Grant’s there right now, convincing them we need help cooking dinner. That bitch Okoye can’t cook and Charles is all but useless; bet you anything your pretty little student will invite them to stay . He’ll poison them all; well, everyone but Dr. May. Ward’s got a hard on for making her pay for her part in his dismissal from the university. She gets the slow treatment.  So, really, I don’t need you at all.”

 

The gun barked once, and Tony stumbled back two steps. His hand flew to his chest, a reflex to the bullet’s entry and the sudden spurt of blood. 

 

“What the…” Tony’s words were cut short by the second shot followed quickly by the third. Bright crimson seeped through Tony’s shirt, each blow pushing him backwards. 

 

“No!” Phil jerked in surprise, his muscles taking far too long to react. Stretching his arm out, he reached for Tony who was tilting over the edge. Phil’s fingers missed Tony’s flailing hand and Stark was gone, tumbling heels over head into the misty spray of the falls. 

 

“Fucking son-of-a …” Clint launched himself at Rumlow, throwing a punch that slammed into the chiseled jaw. Taking the opportunity, Natasha grappled with Rollins, quickly getting the best of him, smacking his head on the wall of the cave. 

 

“Go, warn Mel,” Phil told her. She hesitated only a second, eyes flickering over both of them, then gave a fast nod and disappeared up the stairs. 

 

Shock, a numbness that crawled up his spine, threatened to freeze Phil in his place; shaking it off, he started to pick up Rollins’ gun, but the man lashed out with his leg, kicking Phil’s knee and making him stumble. A fist in his face knocked Phil back; his ankle twisted one way, his body the other, sharp pain lancing through his calf. Before he could get his wind back, Rollins had Phil’s head in the vee of his elbow, arm holding him tight. 

 

“Stop or I’ll kill him,” Rollins announced, the cold metal of his gun barely kissing Phil’s temple. 

 

Clint slowly stepped away from Rumlow. “Don’t be an ass, Jack. You need Phil; he’s the only one who can find Wakanda.” 

 

“We have all of his research.” Jack’s breath was hot on Phil’s skin, the smell of his sweat overpowering. “Maybe he’ll join Stark in his watery grave. Kind of fitting, don’t you think?”

 

“Clint’s right.” Rumlow picked his gun up off the ground and brushed sweat from his brow. “Garrett wants Phil beside him the whole way so he can gloat. And we both know John’s temper if he doesn’t get what he wants. No, I think it’s time Clint was reunited with his brother; where did we bury the body again? Wasn’t too far from Maji or Machi? I can’t remember.”

 

The gun swung Clint’s way; Phil squirmed, trying to break Rollins’ hold. He stomped on Rollins’ foot and jabbed his elbow into his solar plexus, but the man didn’t let go. Instead he tightened his grip and Phil coughed, his breathing getting more shallow. 

 

“Tell Barney he really wasn’t that great a poker player,” Rumlow said, aim steady. “I let him win.” 

 

Phil steeled himself for the sickening sound of projectile hitting flesh; he met Clint’s eyes and didn’t hide any emotion, his face flush with all he was feeling. “Clint, I …”

 

Suddenly, Phil was free, dropping onto his knees as Rollins let go. He sucked in air then stood in time to see a figure dressed entirely in black spin Rollins around and slam him face first into the stone wall. The fabric flickered in the light of the setting sun, scaled like chainmail, thin and flexible material that molded over muscles.  A masked covered the face with feline eyes and pert ears. 

 

Rumlow pointed his gun and shot three times right into the man’s chest. The bullets glanced off harmlessly. Twisting, Clint pulled away from Rumlow grasp; he grabbed Phil, pushing him towards the stairs.  

 

“Go,” Clint whispered. “Get out of here.” 

 

“Only if you  … get down!” Seeing a flicker of movement from the corner of his eye, Phil jerked Clint, spinning him around. Pain slashed across Phil’s bicep and cut a line over his back. A second bullet grazed Clint; he grunted at the impact, but kept them moving, turning one more time so his back was to Rumlow. 

 

“Just die already, motherfucker,” Rumlow cursed. 

 

Before he could fire again, the other man attacked; Rumlow gave as good as he got, holding his own against a powerful rush of fists. They tangled as the punches flew, blocking the way to the stairs.  Clint made a dash for the loose gun; rolling over, Rollins’ got his fingers around the butt first, pointing the muzzle at Clint’s face. 

 

“Jump.” Rollins spat a bright red globule onto the rock. “Go join Stark in Hell.” 

 

Clint’s foot lashed out; Rolling caught his ankle with his other hand and twisted. No option but to spin with the force, Clint tumbled into Phil’s arms. The two steps it took Phil to catch his balance brought his heel right to the edge. 

 

“Tremba uBaast. Yiya.” The young voice filled with a deep rumble came from the mystery man. Trust Baast, he said. Jump. 

 

“From Baast flows protection,” Phil mumbled. Clint’s eyes met his. “Love and Joy.”

 

“Okay, but I get to be Sundance.” Clint gave the smallest of nods. “Feet first, keep your hands tight to your side.” 

 

“Paul Newman works for me.” Phil took a deep breath. “I used to jerk off to Robert Redford fantasies.” 

 

Rollins fired a shot that hit the stone at their feet, chips flying up, one slicing Phil’s cheek. “Now, Barton.” 

 

“One, two …” 

 

Stepping off the edge was easy; one second, Phil’s feet were on solid rock and then he was falling, wind whipping at his clothes, trying to pry his arms away from his body. Sound faded behind the roar of the falls and the whistling in his ears. Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes, his hat blew off his head, and he tried to let out his breath, to drag in a full one before he splashed into the water. Beside him, Clint tried to say something, but the words were ripped from his mouth.  

 

He shouldn’t tense up, but he couldn’t stop himself from anticipating coming in contact with the small lake at the base of the falls. All too quickly, feet collided with surface, the adhesive tension giving way with a loud plop; the impact drove the air from his chest, a wave of pain rushing up his body. Then he was sliding through the water, light fading as he plunged towards the bottom.  When his momentum slowed, he forced his eyelids open; dark green murk obscured everything and Clint was nowhere in sight. Turning his body, he tried to orient himself, but something cold and slimy brushed against his ankle and he away.  The vision of Tony tumbling over the edge jump started Phil’s imagination; he refused to look, afraid to see his friend’s body reaching out to him.  

 

More tendrils ensnared him; he struggled, kicking his feet and waving his arms, but only managed to get himself more entangled in long black fronds. For a moment, he saw a distant light, far above him, but that began to dim as his lungs protested and his throat began to burn.  Thrashing now, growing frantic, Phil fought as long as he could until his own body betrayed him. His mouth opened, desperate for air, and he sucked down water instead.  His sight grew dark, shadows invading from the edges. His heart pounded in his chest, rushed at first then slowing as his limbs grew heavier. He thought of Melinda … had Natasha gotten to the camp in time? Of Tony, eyes wide, a gaping hole in his chest. Of Nick back home, left to wonder what had happened. And of Clint, his warm skin beneath Phil’s fingers, breath hot on his neck.

 

All went dark. 

 

* * *

 

_ “Tell me the story again,” Phil begged, tugging his grandfather’s sleeve. “The one about Captain Rogers and the Howling Commandos where they’re chasing the HYDRA bad guys to stop them from getting to Wakanda first and Sergeant Barnes falls off the mountain and Steve has to blow up the pass while he’s still in it …”  _

 

_ “Sounds like you should tell it.” His grandfather leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “It’s way past your bedtime and I promised your grandmother we’d go into town tomorrow, so you need to get to sleep.”  _

 

_ “Please?” Phil’s lip trembled and he gave his best puppy dog look. “Just one more?”  _

 

_ “Don’t try that on me, Philip James. I faced down a lion on the savannah. One pouting face isn’t going to get to me.”  _

 

_ The light flicked off and Phil lay in his bed, staring at the play of moonlight across his ceiling.   _

 

_ “Once upon a time,” he said out loud. “There was a Captain in the Army named Steven Rogers …” _

 

* * *

  
  


_ “Maybe we should make this a more permanent arrangement,” John said, rolling over onto his side, his fingers wandering through the hair on Phil’s chest. “You and me. We make a good team.”  _

 

_ “You talking about expeditions or something else?” Phil asked, his heartbeat quickening.  _

 

_ “Both.  Been damn successful on the last few digs, working together. And the sex ain’t half-bad …” John trailed off into a laugh. “Nah, the sex is good, but that’s only part of it.  Thinking maybe we should move in together.”  _

 

_ “You just want to get out of sharing a flat with Nick.” Phil knew he had a dumb smile on his face, but he didn’t care.  His life was falling into place, the pieces coming together.  _

 

_ “True. Man snores like a freight train; you, on the other hand, talk in your sleep.” John leaned over and kissed the curve of Phil’s shoulder. “But if you don’t want to …” _

 

_ “I want to,” Phil assured him. “Both parts. I can’t wait for this next dig near Morocco. We’re right, John, I feel it. The tomb of a Carthaginian king. What a stir we’ll make!” _

 

_ John didn’t answer, too busy kissing his way down Phil’s chest.  Lying on his back, eyes half-closed as John’s mouth closed around his cock, Phil watched the play of the next door bar’s neon light on the ceiling and let himself be happy.  _

 

* * *

  
  


_ “Damn it, Phil, stop.” John’s voice echoed, bouncing against the rock walls. “We don’t know she went this way. Let’s be logical …”  _

 

_ “You’re the one who pushed us to open the new tunnels,” Phil shouted back as he skidded on loose gravel, putting a hand on the wall as it curved to the right. “I told you they weren’t safe.” _

 

_ “Jesus, are we going to argue about this now?  Fine, I was wrong, you were right.”  _

 

_ “No, you were too busy fucking Grant to be bothered.” Anger flared in Phil, mixed with a healthy dose of self-loathing. “We’re done, John. Over.”  _

 

_ The tunnel widened into a small chamber with an uneven floor; Phil’s lantern’s beams spread and he could see various objects lining the walls; chests, weapons, and bowls were the first to catch his eye. The left side had collapsed under the weight of a cave-in; on the right, the rock dropped into a lower pit, the bottom shrouded in darkness.   _

 

_ “An antechamber. We have to be close,” John murmured. “Phil. This could be the find of a lifetime.” _

 

_ “Or just another cache. Hundreds have been found, John, and you know it.” Phil didn’t pause, picking his way around the rocks and heading for irregularly shaped opening on the other side. “Christa’s the top priority; after we find her, I’m going home. You and Grant can have the site all to yourself..” _

 

_ “Aw, now, Phil.” John grabbed Phil’s wrist. “You’re angry; give it some time and …” _

 

_ “And what?” Phil rounded on him. “Let you lie to me so more? Let Grant whisper his promises into my students’ ears?” _

 

_ “Damnit, we’re this close. Don’t let emotion get in the way of this,” John argued. “The kid can take care of herself; she’s came in on her own.”  _

 

_ “You want me to abandon her?” Phil couldn’t believe he’d been this stupid. “Nothing that could be through that doorway is worth a life.” _

 

_ “So melodramatic, like always.” Grant emerged from the tunnel. “If he wants to go, let him.”  _

 

_ Anger overrode his normal caution; he surged towards Grant, balling his free hand into a fist. Garrett yanked him back and Phil’s foot slipped.  As he tumbled into the darkness, the rocky ceiling crisscrossed with lantern rays was the last thing he saw before pain blinded him. _

  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, you knew they couldn't all be dead, didn't you? Everybody hold on, Phil gets thrown for a loop, not once, but twice in this chapter.

Phil’s eyes opened to a smooth ceiling painted off-white, awash with ambient glow of the room’s two lamps. Soft cotton brushed against his legs, sheets slipped between him and a white blanket.. Memories filtered slowly into focus, his dreams receding into a hazy fog. Turning his head, he surveyed the space, traced the paths of the cords that connected him to different machines, a heart monitor and an I.V. stand. The pinch of a needle in the back of his hand throbbed as he moved his fingers; medical tape pulled on a bandage on his upper arm.

 

“Phil? Hey.”  Mack appeared, towering over his bedside. “Good to see you awake.  You gave us all a scare there for a minute.”

 

“I jumped.” Phil couldn’t believe he’d done something that stupid. “Got tangled up and couldn’t reach the surface.”

 

“Yeah, pondweed. Took a couple tries to drag you out of it,” Mack told him. “Good thing Fitz and I got to you in time.”

 

“Clint.” Phil pushed himself up, ignoring his scratchy throat. “Where’s Clint? Is he …”

 

“He’s fine. Almost drowned because he wouldn’t stop looking for you. I made him go take a shower; he’s been sitting by your side since you got here,” Mack explained.

 

“Rumlow and Rollins … Grant went to the camp …Tony. Rumlow shot Tony.” The words tumbled out as jumbled as his thoughts before he fell into a fit of coughing.

 

Mack lifted the head of Phil’s bed so he was sitting upright and poured him a glass of ice water.  “Drink this. Your throat’s still raw from throwing up river water.”  

 

Phil sipped, taking a couple pieces of ice onto his tongue to dissolve.

 

“Tony’s out of surgery; his recovery is going to take awhile, even using the most advanced techniques available. The bullets missed his heart, but there’s shrapnel in his chest that could still find its way there.”

 

“Tony’s alive?” Hope flushed through Phil; if Tony survived that would be a miracle. “The others? Melinda? Jemma? Tripp? Natasha?”

 

Mack’s eyes darkened. “Gone by the time I got there. The camp was torn to pieces; rope was found near a couple trees, along with footprints leading away from the falls and further up the mountain.  From what we can piece together, someone freed whomever was tied up and they followed the others.”

 

“Grant was going to poison them, if what Rumlow said was true.” Phil swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Where are my clothes? I’ve got to get out of here, go after them.”

 

“We’ve got people looking for them,” Mack protested. “You need to rest …”

 

“I need to help,” Phil interrupted, eyeing the wardrobe on the far wall. “I got them into this situation.”

 

The door opened and a small woman walked in, her dreadlocks pulled back in a brightly colored ribbon.  Her white coat was embroidered with her name: Dr. Kelchara.

 

“You can at least let the doctor check you over, Phil,” T’Chakka said, following the woman through the doorway. “Then we’ll talk about how best to find your friends. Alphonse, your young scientist is in with Mr. Stark.  See if you can get him to leave his vigil long enough to eat something; he’s far too scrawny to skip meals.”

 

“Yes, your ... “ Mack bit off the next word. “I will.”

 

“I’m going to check your vitals, Dr. Coulson,” Dr. Kelchara said, pulling a stool out from under the bed and stepping up on it. “And bullet wounds, no matter how shallow, need to be taken seriously.”

 

Phil had forgotten about the burn of Rumlow’s bullet. “How did we get to Nairobi so fast?” he asked T’Chakka, holding his arm up for the blood pressure cuff.

 

“You were brought here in a helicopter,” T’Chakka replied. “Your friend Stark was in a bad way and needed immediate attention. Fortunately, our best cardiovascular surgeon was just coming on shift.”

 

“It’s my fault.” Phil winced as the doctor withdrew the I.V. needle, replacing it with a gauze pad and a bandaid. “I should never have brought them all here; I knew what Grant and John were capable of.”

 

“Blame lays only on the one who pulled the trigger. We all make our own choices; do not lessen your friends by taking away theirs.” His eyes were kind as he looked at Phil. “I know of this Rumlow and his associate; you were blessed by Baast to have survived an encounter with them.”

 

“He said they were HYDRA. Can you believe that?” Glancing at his arm, Phil saw a red angry welt as the doctor peeled away the bandage. She dabbed gel on the length and put a new covering over it.

 

“I do believe it.” T’Chakka walked to the shade covered window. “Men of his ilk have always been and always will be.”

 

“I wish I could be a philosophical as you,” Phil admitted. “But right now I’m worried about the others and what Grant will do if he finds them.”

 

“Don’t fret; Okoye is one of the best trackers and I understand that Romanova is in the wind as well. I have my people combing the mountain; we’ll find them,” T’Chakka said. “Tripp is very resourceful; he’ll protect his young woman.”

 

“And Melinda’s with them.” Phil opened his mouth as the doctor depressed his tongue and flashed a light down his throat.  As he swung his leg and waited for her to be done, the import of his friend’s words sunk in. As soon as his mouth was free, he asked, “ Okoye? She works for Grant.”

 

“She works for me,” T’Chakka corrected. “Her job is to watch over my son.”

 

“T’Challa?” Even as he said the name, Phil figured it out. “Charles. What was he thinking, signing on with Garrett’s team?”

 

“He took it upon himself, without my knowledge, to be an inside man .” T’Chakka shook his head. “Twenty-five and unafraid of anything.”

 

“Well,” Dr. Kelchara said, looping her stethoscope over her neck. “Your throat’s still irritated and will be for a few days, but, otherwise, you’re doing well.  I’ve prescribed a course of antibiotics just to be sure your wounds don’t get infected, and you should take it easy for the next few days.”

 

“So I can go?” Phil hopped off the bed; the tile was cold beneath his bare feet. “Where’s Tony? I want to see him.”

 

“Mr. Stark is in recovery …” The doctor trailed off, glancing at T’Chakka. “What’s your pleasure, your ...”  She cut her eyes to Phil and snapped her mouth shut.

 

“I’ll take him myself; you can go,” T’Chakka said.

 

Little facts clicked together, pieces of a puzzle Phil didn’t even know he was working.  “What’s going on?”

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely forthcoming with you,” his friend admitted. “You are not in Nairobi.”

 

He pressed a button and the blinds folded upward. Early morning sunlight peeked over the mountain tops, casting a red glow on the city spread out below.  Illuminated by the first rays, a statue of a big cat dominated the horizon, it’s mouth open in a roar. Pockets of fog lay like cotton in the valley, clinging to the trees.

 

“Are we … it can’t be … I don’t …” Phil walked to the window and stared at the horizon. “This makes no sense.”

 

“De Meun’s’ theory; we discussed it at length two years ago,” T’chakka said. “You thought it the least likely of all of the outliers, if I remember correctly.”

 

“But, how? Keeping this …” His eyes roved over the mix of modern and ancient buildings, steel in harmony with rock and wood. “Satellite imagery would pick up your heat signature.”

 

“Mirroring technology makes us virtually undetectable. Our scientists are at the forefront of arc reactor and clean energy.”

 

The door opened and Clint stepped in. “You’re awake.”  He crossed the room and looked Phil over from head to toe. “Thought we’d lost you.”

 

“We’re in Wakanda,” Phil managed to form the words even though he still didn’t quite believe it. “This is …”

 

“Yeah.” Clint stopped beside him. “Guess I was wrong.”

 

“I expected ruins, maybe some shards of pots, if I was lucky scraps of parchment.” Phil snorted, amused by his own ignorance. “I’m an idiot. Wakanda’s not a lost civilization; it’s alive and well.”

 

“Give yourself a second,” Clint offered. “Took me a while to wrap my head around it and you’ve been searching for this place for years.”

 

“In your defense, we encourage the belief that we’re nothing but a myth. We’ve learned first hand the dangers of interacting with the world.”  T’Chakka patted Phil on his arm. “Your perseverance brought you this far; that’s why I’ve kept my eye on your progress.”

 

“You steered me away from the truth.” Phil couldn’t work up any anger at his friend; if the stories were even half-true, Wakandan’s placed the highest value on privacy.

 

“Tried to protect you; I failed at that.  HYDRA has long sought for entrance to the kingdom. The lure of vibranium draws the worst in many men,” T’Chakka replied.

 

“So T’challa joined Ward to watch his movements and Okoye was his bodyguard …” Phil stopped. Thought about Mack and Tripp’s reaction to Charles, Natasha’s warning of Okoye’s abilities. How the doctor spoke to T’Chakka.  “Jesus. Okoye is dora milaje, isn’t she? Which means that T’challa … and you …” HIs eyes widened at the implications. “Your majesty?”

 

“Please.” T’Chakka waved away Phil’s concern. “When I’m not in these mountains, I’m just a professor of African history. I have few enough friends who will call me out when I’m wrong; don’t become all formal now.”

 

“You have people spying on us too?” Clint asked, following Phil’s thought process.

 

“My people live in many places; we encourage our children to study abroad, experience what the world has to offer. Some return, others make their home elsewhere. One of our strongest convictions is to share our advancements when the world is ready for them; Wakandan scientists, doctors, writers, engineers, and philosophers teach and work at the top companies and universities.”  T’Chakka smiled. “I’m quite proud to see our knowledge put to good use.”

 

“So Mack? Is he  one of your ‘children?’ Was it his job to ensure we came back empty handed?” Clint’s voice grew deeper, his eyes hardening. “Is that how it works?”

 

“No.”  Mack stood in the doorway, Fitz by his side. “We’ve worked together for two years, Clint. I count you and Natasha as friends. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

 

“And if we’d gotten close? Found our way here?” Clint rounded on Mack. “No way a secret this big will last if you don’t actively keep it that way.”

 

“He’s the one who brought you here.” Fitz stepped in front of Mack, hands on his hips, eyes sparking. “Tony wouldn’t have made it to Nairobi and Phil was unconscious. Mack made the call without hesitation. I heard him.”

 

“Pardon, your majesty.”  A young man in his early twenties spoke from the hall. He inclined his head in a small bow. “It’s Lady N’Dare. You wished to be informed when she returned your call.”

 

“Thank you, Zuri. I’ll be right along.” He turned to the four men. “Forgive me, but this is of state importance. Alphonse, please take Phil to see Mr. Stark.”

 

Shifting on the balls of his feet, Phil spoke first after the King had left. “I hope there’s some socks around here. My feet are cold.”

 

“In the dresser,” Mack offered. “Should be scuffs in the closet.”

 

As Phil pulled on the soft cotton shirt and the warm socks he found, the same white fabric of his pants, Fitz talked almost nonstop.

 

“We got the drone off safely,” Fitz said, “before we heard the first shots.”

 

“Drone?” Phil looked askance. “What drone?”

 

“Oh, right, that was Tony’s idea; he came up with it while we were mapping the old campsite.  We loaded everything onto a drive and wiped all the computers as soon as Ward showed up, packed it up with the box and contents, and set the drone on autopilot,” Fitz explained.  “Anyway, we heard shots, saw Tony fall, and Mack knew a way down, so we were almost there when you went under the water.”

 

“So, Grant had nothing to find.” Phil found that fact worrying. “He’ll be pissed.”

 

“May can take him,” Fitz assured him.

 

“And Nat’s out there,” Clint reminded him.

 

“Okoye and Natasha got into it once and it was a draw who won,” Mack told him. “Between those three? Ward and the others haven’t got a chance.”

 

They all had a point; Phil didn’t know Okoye but if she was one of the royal guard, Ward had bitten off more than he could chew. In the stories, the dora milaje were nigh on invincible, but who knew what the truth was. Nothing was a Phil expected it to be; once again, John Garrett and Grant Ward had upended his life. Only this time, he’d found what he’d set out to, albeit in a completely different way.

 

Phil couldn’t keep his mouth shut as he followed Mack through the corridors of a hospital unlike anything he’d ever seen before. No sterile white walls or industrial grade tile, the floor boards were recycled bamboo, buffed to a shine, and the paint a calming purple, the lightest part of a violet’s petals. Wide windows allowed for natural sunlight and amazing views of the mountains; comfortable chairs and benches were scattered about in conversation groups near patterned silver light fixtures that curved from the walls. Even in the postoperative wing, the rooms felt more like suites in a five star hotel rather than sterile cubes filled with intrusive machines.  

 

Just as they reached Tony’s door, Mack’s phone buzzed.  “Yeah?,” he answered. “Right now? I’m with our guests.” He paused, listened. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten.”  Tucking the phone into his jeans, he sighed. “I have to go, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 

“Is it about the review?” Fitz asked, his hand clasping Mack’s larger one. “I want to be there for the questioning, make sure they treat you right.”

 

“It’s okay, just some preliminary questions,” Mack replied. “You can stay with Phil and Clint …”

 

“Questions are questions,” Fitz declared. He turned to Phil. “Just ask one of the aides or doctors if you need any help; I’m going with Mack.”

 

“Turbo,” Mack protested.

 

“We’ll be fine,” Phil said. “Go support Mack. Tell them how grateful I am for how he saved my life.”

 

Mack hung his head, a bright blush spreading over his cheeks. “Look, it wasn’t …”

 

“It was.” Fitz gave a brisk nod and pulled Mack with him as he started back down the hall. “Now are you going to lead or do I have to get lost again?”

 

“Sounds like Mack is in trouble for helping us.” Phil glanced at Clint’s cloistered face.

 

“Doesn’t undo the lies he told,” Clint grumbled, pushing open the door and entering the room in front of them. “He should have said something before we left Nairobi on this expedition.”

 

The sight of Tony hooked to a myriad of machines, his face pale and chest swathed in bandages, drew Phil up short. A quiet beeping, the sound of Tony’s heartbeat, kept a steady rhythm underneath the hiss of an oxygen mask and the drip of the I.V.  Tony’s usual bravado painted him larger, bolder; lying in the pale violet sheets, he was diminished, all too human.

 

“Oh, you must be Phil and Clint.” The man sitting beside Tony’s bed unfolded his tall frame and stood, offering his hand. Clipped blonde hair framed an angular jaw and bright blue eyes. Shoulders widened then tapered down to a smaller waist; his thighs were solid, each muscle chiseled and defined. Something about him rang a bell in Phil’s head, but he couldn’t put words to the feeling.  “Anthony’s starting to waken; the doctor was just in and said he could come to at any time. I offered to sit with him while Leo went to get something to eat.”  

 

So many questions tumbled in Phil’s head, competing to be first on his tongue.  “He was shot three times in the chest and fell. How did he even survive?”

 

“Seems he’s like his dad, damn lucky. Mack and Leo saw where he went under and got him out of the water before he drowned, and the bullets missed his heart, although one shattered and left tiny fragments too close to get to through traditional means. If he’d been anywhere else, he’d wouldn’t have made it, but the only specialist in non-invasive heart surgeons is Wakandan and was on-call,” the man explained. He pointed to a blue glow emanating from under the bandages. “That is keeping the fragments from moving until they can determine how to safely remove them.”

 

“What is it?” Clint walked around to the far side of the bed. “Some sort of magnet?”

 

“A little more complicated than that, but yes.” When the guy smiled, he was even more familiar.

 

Tony made a sound; his lashes fluttered then slowly opened.  He gazed at the ceiling before turning his eyes to the blonde leaning over him. Opening his mouth, he coughed at first, throat roughened from the breathing tube they’d used in surgery, before he managed any words.

 

“Did … it .. hurt?” Tony got out.

 

“What?” The man replied.

 

“When you fell … from heaven?” His lips turned up in a smile.

 

“You’re definitely Howard’s son,” he said with a laugh.  “Charming from the start.”

 

“You think I’m charming?” Tony winced as he tried to turn his head. “Ow. Okay, this hurts. Remind me to fire my travel agent when I can move without pain. So, does the tall Greek god have a name or should I just go with Adonis?”

 

“Steve,” he replied. “Steve …

 

Phil, in a state of shock, finished the sentence. “Rogers. Oh my God, you’re Captain Rogers.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been forecasting that Wakanda was still around, right? Advanced African civilization, cool tech, strong fighters, a touch of spiritualism and magic ... I love the idea of the city being hidden, but the people going out in the world to help others. Plus, Tony can survive and get the arc reactor and Steve Rogers can be held in stasis. Tony's ecstatic, of course, because he's been feeling left out of the romantic roulette.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil met his hero and faces the skeletons in his closet. Things just aren't going Grant's way and that's a good thing.

The story of Steve Rogers, Captain in the U. S. Army, Leader of the Howling Commandos, was the epitome of the American Dream. Born in Brooklyn, he’d been a sickly child, far too many ailments to join the Armed Forces and fight, but he refused to take no for an answer, volunteering for an experimental procedure designed to make stronger soldiers From there, his legend grew … rescuing prisoners of war, taking out Nazi strongholds, and stopping Hitler’s plans.  Like so many tales of war, Steve’s ended with loss and the ultimate sacrifice; his life to stymie the Third Reich. 

 

For Phil, Steve Rogers defined the kind of man he wanted to be.  Captain Rogers fought for everyone, not just Americans, a symbol of hope for all those who felt bullied. That he died defending Kenyans from the Nazis, well, that only sealed the deal.  Growing up, Phil had a big poster and action figures; he played for hours in his grandfather’s study, Captain Rogers saving the world every time.

 

Tony finally went to sleep, the pain medicine doing its job, fighting all the way, wanting to ask more questions. A serum that gave Rogers an almost miraculous healing power, enough to keep him barely alive for fifty years in a status state, fascinated him.  Phil was more interested in what Rogers knew about HYDRA; in the year since he’d woke from his coma, Steve had spent his time tracking their current incarnation. With Jemma and the others still missing, finding them was Phil’s number one priority … after that, Phil planned to spend days talking to Steve. 

 

Sitting by Tony’s bed, Phil let his eyes drift closed; he shouldn’t be sleepy, but he was. Being unconscious didn’t count, he guessed, but he couldn’t rest. Not yet. Melinda wouldn’t stop and neither would he. 

 

“ _ Seriously, Phil? Jumping off a ledge? What were you thinking?”  _

 

_ John Garrett stood in the doorway, that goofy grin on his face, the one where his lip curled up on the left side and down on the right. His hair was a good two inches too long, shaggy over his ears, curling over his collar. Khaki cargo pants, blue denim shirt stained with sweat, ends only half tucked in, he had a touch more grey at his temples.  _

 

_ “Rumlow didn’t give me much choice; he another one of your pet projects? Or is he Pierce’s boy?” Phil couldn’t help but notice the new lines around John’s eyes, the paleness of his skin.  _

 

_ “You can talk; you sleeping with Fitzy boy? No, he’s not your type. Now that Barton, he’s right up your alley.  Bad boy with a tight ass?” Grant Ward leaned against the side of the bed. “I know you used to stare at mine. Thought about taking you for a test drive to figure out what John saw in you, but May was more my speed. Damn that woman goes for anything.”  _

 

_ “Sorry, you’re not in Clint’s league.” Phil stepped away, his back hitting the edge of the sink. “He’s nothing like either of you.”  _

 

_ “Aw, now Phil, you know I’ve crossed lines in the past, done some bad things.” Clint slid a hand over the soft cotton of Phil’s shirt, up to his neck, and curled his fingers into Phil’s hair. “You like that about me, the sense of adventure, danger, the risk …”  _

 

_ “Clint, I …” Phil’s words were choked off as Garrett’s hand tightened around his throat.  _

 

_ “You crave it, Phil. Always have. The search, the chase, and the kill. Just like now, your desire to find me and make me pay.” Garrett leaned in as Phil’s eyes watered, obscuring his view. “Come on, admit it. Gets you hard, doesn’t it, Phil?”  _

 

“Phil.” Clint shook Phil’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

 

He jerked up, back of his head connecting with the wall. “Ow.” He rubbed the spot. “I’m fine; just dozed off.” 

 

“You need to rest, let your body heal,” Clint said. “And eat something to keep your strength up. Mack told me there’s a cafeteria over on the next hall; I’m hungry.” 

 

“Someone should be here when Tony wakes up again.” Phil hesitated, the dream lingering. 

 

“I’ll stay,”  Steve offered, crossing the room. “I’ve got my tablet and can do my research here as well as anywhere.” 

 

“He’ll probably flirt with you again,” Phil warned with a grin. “Like you said, he’s a Stark.” 

 

“I have to say, from what I’ve been reading, he’s different than his father. Howard was charming, yes, a playboy, definitely, but he could also be … hard headed and cold hearted once he set his mind on something. Too determined, if that makes sense?”  Steve glanced over at Tony, a hint of a smile creeping over his lips. “Howard would never have stopped making weapons and moved the company towards investigating avenues of clean energy and safe reactors.”

 

“See?” Clint said to Phil. “Steve’s got this. Food and sleep. That’s what you need.” 

 

“I promise I’ll wake you if we get any news. Nightfall’s in just over four hours; some of the searchers will be returning then,” Steve said, settling in the chair as Phil vacated it. “We’ll know more from their reports.” 

 

“I should …” Phil wasn’t going to win this argument, but he made the effort. 

 

“Follow Fitz’s example and get ready for whatever comes next,” Clint finished the sentence for him. “You know you’re going as soon as we find out where to head, and I’m not going to argue with you about it IF you rest now.” 

 

“Fine.” Phil threw up his hands. “Lead on, I follow.” 

 

The restaurant they found bore little to no resemblance to an American hospital cafeteria; aside from going through a line to place their orders, the place was more of like a bistro with white table cloths over tables, floor-to-ceiling windows with fantastic views, an outdoor veranda lined with lush and blooming plants, and low, ambient lighting.  The chef behind the counter knew their names; she rattled off the selections available to them, suggesting a pearl barley soup for Phil and a fried rice dish with lamb and leeks for Clint. Taking a seat by one of the glass panes, Phil inhaled the fragrant bowl and realized he really was hungry.  

 

“I haven’t had a chance to ask,” Phil said after the first few spoonfuls took the edge off of his grumbling stomach. “You took some nasty hits.  How are you?” 

 

“I got off better than you; some bruises, scraped knuckles and one bullet graze that barely broke the skin.”  Clint slid a full fork in his mouth and sighed. “I’m tired, no denying that. Spent most of the night hopping between yours and Tony’s rooms plus worrying about the others. I mean, I know Nat can handle herself and Melinda too, but that doesn’t mean something could happen, you know?  Hell, we wouldn’t have made it if that guy in the cat suit hadn’t shown up.” 

 

The spoon stopped halfway to Phil’s mouth. “I completely forgot about him. Dressed like Baast?  In all black? You don’t think …”

 

“Hey, I didn’t believe this place was real, so my batting average is shit.” Clint ripped a piece of the dark yeasty bread from the loaf and offered it to Phil before getting one of his own. “Do I think the Black Panther, protector of Wakanda, saved our lives? At this point, anything is possible.” 

 

“I keep thinking it’s going to hit me all at once.”  Phil slathered some butter on the bread before dipping it in the broth. “Like, be careful what you wish for rolled up with how is this real breakdown. But I just keep moving ahead, taking it all in without screaming.” 

 

“Not much use in falling apart when there are people in danger,” Clint said matter-of-factly. “You’re doing fine. I mean, it’s not every day you meet a World War II war hero and your lifelong goal at the same time. You’re owed a little freak out.” 

 

They ate in silence for a few minutes until Phil put down his spoon, hunger sated. “You're angry with Mack, aren’t you?”

 

“He could have said something; instead he let us walk right into Garrett’s path.  If I’d known …” Clint didn’t finish the sentence. 

 

“You’d have let us go on our own? Find another guide?” In their short time together, Phil thought he’d gotten a good read on Clint, but then, what did he know about people? “Knowing Garrett was leading the expedition?”

 

The corner of Clint’s mouth turned up. “Yeah, Nat and I would have gone anyway, but we’d have been prepared for Rumlow and Rollins’ backstabbing. That’s what pisses me off; Tony’s lying in that bed with shrapnel in his chest and he didn’t have to be.”

 

“We don’t know that it would have made a difference.” Phil laid a hand on Clint’s, right out on the table. 

 

“This is why I have trust issues,” Clint said, folding his napkin and laying it beside his almost empty plate. “At least Rumlow admitted to killing Barney; I’ve got a location to look for his body.” 

 

A young man came by the table, a tray filled with desserts; Clint took a couple coconut cookies while Phil passed. Before they took three steps, the table was cleaned off, a new cloth put in place and ready for the next guest.  As he followed Clint down the hall, Phil thought about his dream, what it meant.Everyone had secrets, or so it seemed, old friends and new ones. Truth be told, he’d only known Clint for over a week; why did he feel so sure about him? 

 

Clint opened the door to what looked like a hotel room, complete with a full bath, a queen sized bed, and yet another breathtaking view.  Kicking off his shoes, Phil made a quick stop and then headed for turned down covers.  Crawling between them, he reached out a hand.

 

“You too.”  He’d decided and didn’t want a chance to talk himself out of it.  “Come to bed.” 

 

Clint cuddled up behind Phil, wrapping him in his arms; he nuzzled his nose into the nape of Phil’s neck, and Phil breathed slowly, exhaling through his mouth as he counted. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. His heart rate slowed, muscles relaxed, and he was ready. Talking in the dark, warm and safe, made confessions easier. 

 

“I met John during my first post-doc job; he was working for the department at Berkeley, already a line foreman for the top professors. You have to understand, I was pretty boring; people assumed I was married already and much older than I really am, so when John showed his interest, I was more than happy to start dating. And then, well, we settled into a relationship without really talking about it.  He followed me to Culver when I got the job there, and we moved in together not long after that. I thought we were going to be a permanent thing until the Carthage dig.”  Phil closed his eyes as an echo of raised voices sounded, faint and fading. “There were signs, of course, but I chose to ignore them.  John has a temper; he’s never been physical with people, not that I know of, but he gets worked up and explodes, breaks things, slams doors, that kind of anger. Likes to take cans or bottles out to an empty field and shoot at them. He cuts corners; that was what I did on our digs, take care of the details, the research, the minutiae. John did the hiring and the schmoozing with investors. Always managed to find us money to keep going.” 

 

Clint was silent, but he tightened his arms, squeezing Phil gently as he paused in his story.  Warm breath bathed the back of Phil’s neck, a constant reminder of Clint’s presence. 

 

“And he looked at others, guys, girls … he appreciated a fine body, he’s say … and I was okay with it as long as he did nothing more than look. So I pretended not to notice the way he’d mentor younger men, encourage them, train them … hell, he was probably sleeping with all of them.”  Phil remembered each one of them, their names, and he had to wonder how many were part of HYDRA now. “We fought a lot during that last dig; John had taken Grant under his wing and was pushing to go faster, sure we were on the brink of a major discovery. Then one night, I woke up and he wasn’t in the tent; we’d had a knock-down-drag-’em-out about sending students into areas without adequate tunnel support, so I assumed he was working out his anger. I went to find him, to talk it out now that we were both calmer, and found him with Grant.”

 

Clint made a sound deep in his throat, pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot below Phil’s ear, and squeezed again. 

 

“I ended it, of course. Our relationship. But I’d invested too much of work in the dig, so I thought we could be professional and continue on. Two nights later, the alarm went up; one of the students told his girlfriend he saw Grant duck into the tunnels and was going to follow him.  I found him; he’d slipped off a narrow trail and was hanging by his fingertips to the rock just below the edge. I tried to reach him, but … I can still see his eyes as he fell; his scream wakes me up sometimes.” 

 

“Grant pushed him,” Clint stated without hesitation. “If you hadn’t come upon him, he’d have just disappeared. That’s how HYDRA likes to work.” 

 

“We couldn’t prove it; there was no time to say anything other than call for help.” A long deep breath and the tightness released across Phil’s chest. “Three nights later, the girlfriend, convinced he was still alive and trapped, went in to find him. Melinda believes Grant slipped her some psychotropic drug; I didn’t believe her for the longest time, but now I do. We organized a search and John ended up with me. I was angry, betrayed, hurt … distracted.  We got into a fight because John wanted to stop and examine some artifacts and I wanted to keep looking. He grabbed my arm, I tried to pull away and … well, you’ve seen the scar. By the time I woke up a week later, they’d found her body in a small burial chamber, one we might never have discovered if we’d had to wait on proper safety protocol.” 

 

“God, Phil.” Clint’s fingers traced the raised edge of skin on Phil’s chest. “I’m so fucking glad you survived.” 

 

“Me too.” Phil chuckled. “Maybe Baast brought us together to get justice; she was a protector, after all.  The Egyptians put statues of her in their homes to ward off thieves.”

 

“And here I thought she was all about passion.” Clint wiggled his hips. “We can thank her for that too.” 

 

“If I weren’t so damn tired,” Phil murmured; now that he’d spilled his story, he felt exhaustion taking hold of his eyelids and dragging them downward. “After we find the others.” 

 

“In the shower before we go,” Clint said.

 

As he drifted away, Phil heard Clint say, “I’ll be here when you wake, Phil.” 

 

He took that as a promise. 

* * *

 

Grant’s fingers itched for the weight of his gun and the buck of recoil as he fired a bullet right into Rumlow’s smug face. Nothing was going as planned and Grant was more than exasperated at Rumlow’s excuses. 

 

“Let me get this straight.  You shot Stark, but don’t have a body for proof of death. Romanova got away. Fitz and the big guy weren’t even there. Not only did Barton escape, you also let Phil, the one person John specifically directed you to keep alive, jump off a cliff. Only Rollins is dead for sure.” 

 

“It was the Black Panther, I’m telling you.” Worse for wear, Rumlow’s nose was smashed and bloody, his left arm in a makeshift sling. “That means we’re close or he wouldn’t bother attacking us.” 

 

“Jesus Fucking Christ, you’re stupid.” Grant cut his eyes to the two prisoners, tied securely to separate trees. “It could just be someone in a costume to distract you.” 

 

“Hey, you didn’t do so well yourself,” Rumlow countered. “May’s still out there somewhere.” 

 

“No way she’ll abandon Simmons,” Grant explained for the tenth time. “We just have to wait for her to come to us.” 

 

“I wouldn’t sound so smug about that,” Jemma said, a sneer on her pretty face. “She’ll kick your ass when you get here.” 

 

He’d manage to ignore her taunts so far, but his patience was wearing thin. “Shut up, Jemma, or I’ll shoot your lover. He’s nothing but excess baggage.” 

 

“Oh, really? And who’s going to get you to your rondeau vous spot?  Your guide and helper have deserted you. Can’t say I blame them. Weren’t you going to poison them too?”  Jemma was all too glad to point out. 

 

“Shut up, little girl; you don’t need your tongue to be bait,” Rumlow warned, his voice low and gravelly. Something in his look made Jemma go silent, her face going pale. “And that’s another failure on your part, Ward, that we’re without a guide and an extra hand.” 

 

He didn’t want to talk about the bitch and the way she’d sucker punched him. “We’ve got leverage on this guy; we’re better off without Okoye. Let her tuck tail and run.” 

 

Rumlow didn’t buy it, Grant could tell, but he didn’t argue the point. They’d both been taken by surprise and neither wanted to admit it.  Grant had expected problems with Phil and Melinda, had done his homework on Barton and Romanova, but he hadn’t seen Okoye’s defection or Fitz’s ingenuity. That, he thought, was a problem he planned to rectify. 

 

But first, he need to verify that at least three of his problems were at the bottom of the lake. Then he’d take care of the rest. 

  
  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry to take so long with this one. I got stuck on a couple plot points and took a bit to work it out. All is mapped out to the end of the story now! :)))

“Hey, did you guys know this is based upon one of my designs?” Tony tapped the glowing circle in the middle of his chest. “The scientist I’ve been exchanging friendly emails with turned out to be the Queen of Wakanda; she’s a fellow M.I.T. grad.  Vibranium’s the only metal that can withstand the amount of energy produced. That’s why I couldn’t get it to work.”

 

STark’s face filled the viewscreen on the wall of the small conference room; sitting up in bed, he’d found a tablet and was writing formulas, blue numbers lingering in the air.  Par for the course, Tony refused to stay down, insisting he be included in the war council, as he called it. Even with the advanced techniques the doctor had used, Tony had still been shot; hovering behind him, a nurse kept a close watch on his vitals.

 

“Queen Ramonda is a brilliant woman,” Mack agreed. He’d come in with a groggy Fitz who’d headed straight to the coffee pot. Phil didn’t blame Leo; Phil had been deep asleep when Steve had knocked on the door.

 

“You said the trackers had returned?” Phil asked Steve, steering the conversation back to the topic at hand.  The pain medication lowered Tony’s inhibitions; he’d already proposed marriage to his doctor, two nurses, and offered Steve the sun, moon, and stars to come home with him.

 

“Aye, I have news.”  T’Challa entered, two women close behind. “Dr. Coulson, I hope you forgive me my little deception. It was necessary.”  

 

Phil took his proffered hand.  “I understand.”

 

“But you don’t want to waste time, I imagine, so I’ll get right to it.” He tapped the table and a map of the mountains appeared. “Rollins is dead.” He marked an X on the panther’s head. “Rumlow has Tripp and Miss Simmons with him; he met up with Rumlow here and they’re on the move, probably heading towards the spot to meet Garrett and the others. Dr. May and Ms Romanova are following; Okoye has two guard with her and is circling around to get ahead of them.”

 

“Do we know the location?” Steve circled the table, eyeing the lay of the land.

 

“There’s really only two ways in for a party of that size.”  Phil had done his homework before he picked their route. “John will pick the eastern entrance; it’s steeper and riskier, but will cut two days off if all goes well. Assuming they’ve left the city …”

 

“Early this morning while you were sleeping,” T’Challa supplied. “Garrett is driving them hard; they’ll make this plateau by night fall.”

 

“We can intercept Ward and Rumlow tomorrow.” Steve pondered the options then marked two locations.  “Here or here.”

 

“But then they’ll know,” Fitz interjected. “About Wakanda.”

 

Phil didn’t miss the look exchanged by T’Challa and Mack, but let it go for later. “That’s why we’re going to take them down ourselves. Then it’s our word against theirs.”  

 

“We’ll have the element of surprise,” Mack agreed. “And with Natasha, Melinda, and Okoye, we’ll have the advantage of numbers.”  

 

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”  Fitz pushed back from the table.  “We can get going as soon as I grab what I need.”

 

“We’ll leave just before first light and still be there before Ward,” Steve pointed out.  “We’ve got eyes on the ground and should take this time to formulate an attack strategy.”

 

“And rest up more,” Clint added, nodding to Phil.

 

“I’m fine,” Phil said.

 

“And I’ll be ready,” Tony said at the exact same time.

 

“No,” Clint and Phil replied in unison.

 

“I’m feeling just fine,” Tony argued, struggling to sit up straighter. “Hey, if Arnold can do it at his age, so can I.”

 

“First, that was a movie,” Phil said. “And secondly, you were shot in the chest, Tony. Three times. That’s the morphine you’re feeling. Accept that you’re going to be flat on your back for a while or I’ll call Pepper and …”

 

“Fine.” Tony flopped back down, his face visibly paler and breathing in short gasps. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.  But I get a live feed to watch and computer access.  Fitz can rig up a drone camera in case you need aerial support.”

 

“Of course.” Phil could be gracious; he so rarely won an arguement with Tony. “And we’ll need your input on how to deal with fallout once we get back.  Best start getting ready for the shit storm now.”

 

“Assuming we get back,” Fitz tossed out. He glanced at Mack. “I mean, they blindfolded us when we came here; maybe it’s a ‘stay or we’ll have to kill you’ scenario.”

 

“I told you, Turbo, you’re welcome to go or stay,” Mack muttered in what was clearly an ongoing argument.”

 

“You are our guests,” T’Challa said. “A gracious host would never force you to stay.”

 

“Besides, it’s not like we’re going to tell everyone what we found here.” Phil was certain on that point;  Wakanda would remain a myth to the world. “T’Chakka is my friend and I have no intention of betraying him.”

 

“So you go back empty handed?” Clint tilted his head. “ Let everyone think you found nothing?”

 

“Yes.” No hesitation, no doubt.  Phil would rather lose his job and his reputation. “If I’m wrong, then so is Garrett. In fact, that’s what I plan on telling him. That the sites yielded no evidence at all.”

 

“It will be the truth,” T’Challa said. “I saw the path of your journey; Ward had all the details. Were it not for last year’s rains and the rock shifting, you wouldn’t have even come close to Baast’s Head. Even then, had he not intervened, both parties would have returned without finding anything of note.”

 

“The box was an accident.” Phil half-grinned, remember the slide down the hill. “We’d never have found it if we’d kept to the trail.”

 

“So why send Tripp and Mack to ride herd on us?” Clint’s voice held a sharp edge.

 

“To protect you,” Mack answered. “I wasn’t worried about you, Clint, but about HYDRA. They’ll do whatever they need to in order to get to the mines.”

 

“Well, I might have to send HYDRA a fruit basket or something,” Tony chimed in. “Aside from the whole shrapnel near my heart thing, I’m damn excited to be here. Have you seen the ventilators they’re using?  The miniaturized heart monitors that remotely access data? This shit’s the bomb. I can’t wait to see the labs where they work with vibranium. Can you imagine what I can do with that stuff?”

 

“Hiding from the world, Tony,” Phil reminded him. Stark shrugged then blanched; his finger hit the button for more pain medication.

 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t learn from them. And I’m putting out a standing order to hire any graduates looking for a job in clean energy. SI will be on the cutting edge.”  He sank further back against the pillows.  “Hey, Blondie, are you a magician?”

 

Steve furrowed his brows. “No,” he answered.

 

“You must be because, when I look at you, you make everyone else disappear.” Tony snickered at his bad joke; his eyelids began to flag. “Going to be flat on my back a few days … you could come join me …” He blinked twice then slipped into sleep, murmuring to himself.

 

“Anything but subtle, that’s our Stark,” Phil said.

 

“I kind of like it,” Steve said, rubbing his hand over the nape of his neck.  “Been a long time since someone flirted with me. I need obvious.”

  


~~++~~

 

Planning took up the rest of the afternoon and into the evening; dinner was a casual affair, platters of food served up on another outdoor terrace.  Local wine filled Phil’s glass, the mellow red keeping his anxiety tucked beneath his wonder at his surroundings. After, Steve and T’Challa took them on a tour of the city, and Phil could barely contain himself as they walked through the Market area and by Sekhmet and Baast’s temples. Teeming with life, the streets curved and splintered into smaller alleyways, stone steps climbing up the side of the mountain. For Phil, the library made his mouth water, perfectly preserved scrolls indexed besides ancient tomes. He could spend years in just one room and only touch a tiny portion of the knowledge contained here.

 

Five a.m. was their estimated departure time;  by 9:30, Fitz had retired, Mack on his heels, and Steve was bound to sit with Tony for a few hours, dropping both Phil and Clint off at the door to Clint’s room.  Inside he found his clothes freshly cleaned and pressed stacked on the dresser, every tear carefully mended with tiny stitches. Running his fingers over the edging of a pocket, the reality suddenly crashed in on him. Tomorrow, he was going on the offensive and the thought of facing Garrett after all this time made his stomach roll.

 

“I’m going to take a shower.” He’d skipped taking one earlier, eager to hear the news. Kicking off his shoes, he tugged his shirt over his head and grabbed a pair of  underwear. For some strange reason, that seemed important, to be clean as if washing away the last few days would make him stronger.

 

“Let me brush my teeth and I’ll get out of your way.” Clint brushed past him, head down and back turned. “Don’t let me bother you.”

 

The tone cut through Phil’s fog of doubt; he caught a glimpse of his downturned lips and drawn brow. “Hey, no, you’re not …” He stumbled over the words. “I’d didn’t mean …” He tried one more time. “I’d like it if you joined me.” He shook his head. “Damn, that sounds …”

 

“Get in the shower, Phil.” Clint grinned, eyes lighting with a sparkle. “Let’s see what we can do to make you forget for awhile.”

 

He wanted that, to forget. Forget the dreams, the past, the unknowns. To believe for a few minutes that all was as it should be. Warm water, rising mist, a willing lover, and nothing to do but run his hands over Clint’s soapy skin.  Long gentle brushes of fingers over his cock, moist lips pressing on his neck, soft sighs of pleasures stirring his hair. Slick slide of skin, quiet murmurs of simple sounds, panting breaths matching his elevating heartbeat. Coiling tensions gathered, brain quietening as he stopped thinking, emotions settling.  Heat sank into his bones, Clint groaned, and his orgasm rocked him back on his heels. Bracing his palms against the wall, Phil hung his head and let his thoughts scatter as his release rolled through him.

 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I get in my head sometimes.”

 

“Mmmm.” Clint wrapped himself around Phil and tugged him under the spray, rinsing them off. “You’re about to see your ex who cheated with your student, tried to kill you, and turned out to be a member of an ancient group of bad guys. I think you get a pass.”

 

“I fell.” Phil started to argue the point, but he’d always had a niggling doubt.  Had John let go at the right moment?  “But, yeah, I’m a little stressed. Less now.”

 

“Not like I don’t have my own issues.”  Clint handed Phil a towel as they got out.  “I suck at social interaction; Nat always tells me I’ve got an advanced degree is self-sabotage.”

 

“Did you live with a villain?” Phil dried off, rubbing the towel over his body.

 

“Oh, is this a competition? Because I’ll win.” Phil reached for his clean underwear; Clint snatched them out of his hands and tossed them on the counter. “Some time I’ll tell you about how I fucked up Bobbi Morse’s life with my screwed up psyche.”

 

“Don’t get me started on my undergrad days.” Toweling dry his hair, he let Clint pull him into the bedroom and waited while he turned down the covers. “Let’s just say I was clueless about how to talk about my feelings.”

 

“Bed. Now. Please.” Clint nudged and Phil didn’t object, crawling between the cool sheets. “That’s the extent of my touchy-feely side. Monosyllabic grunts.”

 

“Yeah, well, I leave the toilet seat up,” Phil pretended to grouse as he settled in, setting the alarm by the bed.

 

“I trim my toenails in bed.” Clint clicked off the lights and immediately snuggled up to Phil.  All that bare skin felt decadent, hairy legs and all.

 

“I drink milk from the carton.”

 

“I forget birthdays and don’t even know what an anniversary is.”

 

“I pretend not to listen if I don’t want to hear it.”

 

“I ignore people when the game is on.”

 

“I ignore warning signs and just plow ahead.”

 

“I pretend everything’s okay.”

 

“I know there’s a problem and do nothing about it.”

 

“I never say how I feel.”

 

“I say enough for both of us.”

 

Phil yawned.

 

“I let you do all the work in the relationship.”

 

Clint yawned.

 

“I want more than you can give.”

 

“I give more than you want.”

 

They both fell silent, breathing growing deeper and evening out.

 

“I’m afraid to trust anyone,” Phil whispered.

 

“I’m afraid no one will want me,” Clint whispered back.

 

A few more heartbeats.

 

“I trust you,” Clint breathed.

 

“I want you,” Phil breathed back.

 

They drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Phil to face Grant and Rumlow ... and some truths about himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two more chapters after this. Almost done! :)

Standing under swaying leaves, occasional drips from last night’s rain plopping on his shoulder, Phil stared at the tree line, eyes trained on the bare line of earth that twisted through the underbrush.  Any second now, Grant and Rumlow would be coming into view and, if all went to plan, they’d be in custody before a shot could be fired.  Exactly what that meant, Phil refused to examine too closely; he’d spent the whole ride thinking about how to keep Wakanda secret. He couldn’t imagine any explanation that would throw Grant and John off the trail; no matter what Phil told them, they’d keep looking, the lure of vibranium all too real.

 

Monkeys began to chatter, shaking branches; Phil pushed off the tree trunk, ready to play his part in this little drama.  He straightened his spine and exhaled as Grant came into view. 

 

“Ah, so it’s here. Brock bet you’d be further down on the plateau. He owes me twenty dollars.” Grant stopped. “So what’s the game plan?  Barton hiding in the woods? Little Fitzy recording it all with his beefy boy toy in tow?”

 

“Glad you finally dropped the act,” Phil said, remaining perfectly still. The small handgun tucked into his belt weighed heavily on his mind. “You may as well give up, Grant.  There’s no way you and Rumlow are going to escape justice for what you did.” 

 

“What I did?” Grant’s eyebrows rose and he shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t  _ do _ anything but try and help people when Brock revealed himself as the villain of the piece.” 

 

“That’s not going to play and you know it.” The very thought of Grant slipping out of this fired Phil’s indignation; blaming Rumlow was perfectly in character, but there were too many witnesses … “Let Jemma and Tripp go; it’s your best shot at only being an accessory to murder.” 

 

“Now, see, there’s the problem. I don’t have them. Brock’s more than a little pissed at Rollin’s death and your escape. He knocked me out and made off with the survivors of his rampage.” One side of Grant’s mouth quirked up.  “Melinda, Jemma, our guide, and those two other guys. Rumlow’s got ‘em all.” 

 

Phil knew that wasn’t true;. as far as lies went, Grant was getting desperate. “You think John’s going to exert himself to help you?  We both know he’ll save himself first and throw anyone else to the wolves. You’re best bet is to get to the Kenyan police first and tell them everything.” 

 

“Oh, come on Phil. You’re not that naive. You know the Wakandan’s won’t let me leave this mountain. I might tell everyone about the Black Panther and the miraculous survival of two men who jumped off a cliff and came back looking all fresh and clean,” Grant said. 

 

“There’s no Black Panther, Grant, just like there’s no Wakanda. Clint and I survived because we were lucky, that’s all. I’m going to go back and admit I was wrong. Hell, my reputation’s already in tatters, so it doesn’t matter if I tell the truth.”  In that moment, Phil knew that was exactly what he was going to do. Tell Pierce and Fury and the whole academic community that his expedition had failed. So part of that surety must have rung in his words because, for the first time, Grant hesitated, his eyes searching Phil’s. 

 

“Well, hell. You really are a self-sacrificing idiot, aren’t you?” Grant said. “Throw your career away and have nothing to show for it? That’s so you, Phil.” 

 

He was done with talking; Grant was buying time for whatever plan he thought he had going. “That’s enough, Grant. Come with me and turn yourself in.” 

 

“And if I don’t? What are you going to do?” Grant challenged. 

 

Phil drew his gun and aimed it Grant’s direction, trying to sound confident.  “I’ll use this.” 

 

Grant laughed, a deep chuckle that rolled up from his belly.  “Now that is priceless. Phil Coulson’s going to shoot me. There’s no way you’ll pull that trigger; you haven’t got the guts.” Stepping closer, Grant crooked an eyebrow. “Come on, man. You’re making this way too easy; tell Fitz and his bald boyfriend to come out from where they’re hiding and I won’t take that away from you.” 

 

“Who said Fitz was here?” Phil asked, eyes trained on Grant.

 

“Hey.” Melinda tapped Grant on the shoulder; before he could spin around, she landed two quick blows, one to his left jaw, the other to his right. He dropped like a sack of potatoes. 

 

“That was anti-climatic.” Phil put the unloaded gun away. “I thought you’d take a couple more shots.” 

 

“He’s not worth my time,” Melinda said, helping Natasha catch Grant under the arms and drag him to the nearest tree. “I’m cold and tired and need a shower. Help me tie him up so we …” 

 

A gunshot echoed followed by an eruption of birds from the trees; they all exchanged a quick glance.

 

“Go,” Natasha nodded. “We’ve got this.

 

Plunging through the trees, Phil ran towards the sound, his heart pounding in time to his foot falls on the packed earth of the trail. The  GPS on his phone pointed the way; they all had locators and Phil zeroed in on Clint’s.  Two minutes later, the ground rumbled and knocked Phil to his knees; ignoring the slash of pain, his torn pants and the oozing blood, he was up and moving again as dirt filtered down around him. 

He nearly collided with Fitz as he ducked around a tree. “Leo. What’s …”

 

“Rumlow. He tried to shoot Jemma but Tripp jumped in the way and Okoye knocked him down and he set off a bomb or something and then he ran off and Clint’s gone after him  ….” Fitz didn’t stop talking as he spun on his foot and started back the way he’d come, following Phil. “Mack was hurt in the explosion, and Okoye told me to get you and the others and I don’t know what’s happening ...”

 

Smoke still hung in the air as they entered the clearing; Jemma knelt next to Tripp in her tank top, using her shirt to staunch the bleeding from Tripp’s shoulder. He nodded to Phil, wincing at the movement.  Bending over Mack, Okoye worked on Mack’s leg, wrapping a bleeding wound with cloth strips.  Red scratches marred Mack’s face and he had another gash on his upper arm. 

 

“Ward’s taken care of,” Phil told them. “I’ll get Clint.”

 

Eyes on the blinking green dot, Phil followed the upward trail, slowing as he neared the location marked on the map.  He heard the voices first. 

 

“... just like your brother. He begged in the end, offered to do anything if we’d let him live. Weak, that’s what he was; he gave up the map without a whimper. And all for nothing. It was a fake after all.” 

 

Through the leafy branches Phil could see Rumlow, a gun in one hand and something held tight in the other. Standing a few yards away, Clint held his hands up, palms open and empty, uncharacteristically quiet. 

 

“Now you’re going to join him, you and your friends, buried under half the side of this mountain. I planted enough C4 to blow us all to Jesus,” Rumlow continued. 

 

“Is that what HYDRA wants?” Phil asked, stepping into view, holding his hands up just like Clint. 

 

“To hell with Pierce and Garrett. They can scheme their schemes; I’m going to settle the score once and for all,” Rumlow all but growled. “Hope you said goodbye to your friends back there, Coulson. Any last words for your boy toy?” 

 

Phil’s eyes met Clint’s, saw the steely determination there, and a calm settled over him.  “I trust you,” he said, and he meant it in every single nuance with no shades of grey. 

 

“I want you,” Clint replied, a hint of a smile flirting with the corners of his lips. “Let’s get lost, shall we?” 

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Rumlow’s finger tightened on the trigger of the gun. “If I wasn’t going to kill you already, that would do it. Barton gets it first.” 

 

Too many steps between them, Phil tried to throw himself between Clint and the muzzle. The shot sounded loud in his ears as his feet left the ground and he dived forward, nearly colliding with Clint as he darted towards Rumlow’s other hand. He swore he could feel the rush of air as bullet whizzed by his head, ruffling his hair, then he was falling onto the ground, rolling to look up at what was happening above.  Stepping out of reach, Rumlow’s dark chuckled burned into Phil’s memory as he thumbed the cell phone screen in his hand, ready to send the signal. 

 

From the trees, a black form lept, a blur of muscle and fur and flashing white teeth. Big paws batted at Rumlow’s hand, claws raking across skin, mouth closing around exposed throat.  The cell phone fell harmlessly into the grass as Rumlow stumbled under the weight of the big cat; he uttered one terrified cry that turned to a gurgle as the panther dragged him away into the underbrush, leaving a red trail behind. 

 

Neither Phil nor Clint moved for the space of three breaths. Phil’s heart pounded in his ears, his breathing shallow and quick. Finally, Clint bent and picked up the phone, powering it down and tucking it in his pocket. Taking Clint’s proffered hand, Phil stood up, his left knee and elbow twinging.  

 

“Was that …” Clint stared at the bright drops of blood on the leaves. 

 

“After all I’ve seen the last few days, it could be Baast herself,” Phil admitted. “Although I thought I saw some grey around the temples.” 

 

“Let’s not chance it either way.”  Clint snagged Rumlow’s gun. “Until the explosives are defused, I’m not counting this as over.” 

* * *

 

Grant rolled on Rumlow without protest, detailing where he planted the three charges.  Smug and smiling far too much, Ward was the picture of cooperation, planting the seeds for his defense and the idea he didn’t know what Rumlow was up to. He keep up a steady stream of conversation until he realized that Okoye was the one taking him to meet the authorities; falling into a funk, Grant grew surly and clammed up, refusing to say anything else.  Phil breathed a sigh of relief when the Wakandan woman disappeared down the trail with her prisoner in tow. 

 

Steve, who’d stayed out of Ward and Rumlow’s view, organized the airlift of Tripp and Mack to the hospital;  both men were awake and talking as they were loaded on board a helicopter, Jemma and Fitz joining them. When the four of them were left … Phil, Clint, Melinda, and Natasha … they carted the supplies to the campsite and got to working setting up. Two tents, camp stools and bed rolls, a quick meal warmed in a pot over the fire.  

 

Tomorrow, Phil would be face-to-face with John Garrett after five years;; the thought gnawed at  him as he ate. It roiled his brain after Natasha took his plate and fork.  Melinda and Clint got into a pissing match about who had eaten the most exotic thing … Melinda won with a millenium egg … and the flow of their words became a background for Phil’s ever evolving planned speech he’d give before John could get a word in edgewise.  He wanted to be bold, confident, nonplussed.  Dismiss John as if he didn’t matter at all. Rise above the petty need to lash out and hurt the man who’d hurt him.  But every time he played back the sentences, they sounded whiny and shaky, the complaints of a man still pining for a lover who’d turned out to be a jackass. 

 

“Come on.” Clint nudged Phil’s boot with his own. “Enough brooding.” 

 

Taking the proffered hand, Phil let Clint pull him up. He was tired, adrenaline drained away and an empty span of waiting before him. Tugging him into their tent, Clint spun him around and kissed him. His lips warmed Phil, a press of heat that interrupted his interior monologue. A hand clasped his bicep and held Phil steady.  Thighs  bumped him backwards until his calves hit the edge of the bed. Hips rolled against his sending jolts of electricity charging up his spine, short-circuiting his ability to think of anything but Clint. 

 

He lost himself in the feeling; they slipped out of clothes, tossed boots, paused to kiss skin as it was revealed.  The sleeping bag was cool against Phil’s back when Clint laid him down, taking first one wrist and then the other, lifting them over Phil’s head and wrapping his fingers around the wooden frame. Eyes closed, Phil’s world narrowed down to Clint’s relentless kisses, the engulfing moisture of his mouth around Phil’s cock, his gripping fingers and grasping hands. As Clint worked him open, Phil felt his tension crack, a spiderweb of sensations splintering his control until he shattered as Clint sank deep inside him, spreading him wide open so no doubt remained.  He let go of any control, let Clint be in charge, followed him blindly into a headlong rush of pleasure that left both of them panting, Clint sprawled on top of Phil’s chest, arms hanging over the sides of the small bed. 

 

“You tried to jump in front of me,” Clint murmured, his lips brushing along Phil’s collarbone. 

 

“Yeah. Made sense at the time,” Phil replied. “Save you, you take out Rumlow, save the others.” 

 

“And you were expendable?” Clint raised his head and rested his chin on his folded hands, looking carefully in Phil’s eyes. “‘Cause that’s some horseshit, Phil. You’re important.” 

 

“I didn’t think that far,” Phil admitted. “Just sort of acted.” 

 

Clint huffed. “Sacrificing yourself seems to be your go-to strategy, you know. Maybe you should make that part of the new Phil; being selfish enough to live.” 

 

He narrowed his eyes; Clint widen his and shrugged, a who me? look that Phil didn’t buy at all. “You’ve been talking to Melinda,” he accused. “My perpetual martyrdom is one of her favorite topics to needle me on.” 

 

“Smart woman with a point.”  Clint wiggled, shifting more of his weight off of Phil’s chest. “Maybe you should listen to her.” 

 

“Unhuh.” Phil trailed a hand down Clint’s back, grabbing a handful of very fine ass and squeezing. “And maybe you should listen to Natasha and not run off alone to face every demon.” 

 

“Touche.” Clint’s eyelids drifted down once, twice, then a third time. “Maybe we both decide to trust each other, eh? What are the odds?” 

 

“I come from the Han Solo camp,” Phil replied, relaxing. “Never tell me the odds.” 

 

“A man after my own heart,” Clint mumbled. 

 

Phil found himself wishing he that were true … and that he had a chance of holding it.

  
  
  
  



	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garrett appears, Phil likes to make plans, and Clint has a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the next-to-last chapter. Threads will be tied together in the next one, but we're all but done. Thanks for hanging in there on this crazy ride!

“You look good, Phil; I mean it. Really good.”  

 

Phil couldn’t say the same about John.  Too much time in the sun had left brown spots on the back of his hands. Lines spread from the edge of his eyes and his skin sagged on his neck.  He’d lost weight, his shirt hanging from his shoulders, bones in evident relief. Brown hair fell across his face, a sweaty ring where his hat had circled his head. But more than that, John had lost his sheen, the boyish charm that had drawn Phil to him in the first place. 

 

“And Mel! You just get better looking. I read your paper on that fragment of Erjian characters from Botswana. Fascinating stuff.” John didn’t bother to offer his hand; Melinda’s cold stare and stiff silence didn’t invite any more interaction. “And you must be Barton and Romanova. I’m so glad Phil found you; I worried I’d snapped up all the best guides.” 

 

Natasha glared; Clint shifted his weight from one leg to the other but didn’t rise to the bait. 

 

“Well, this is a talkative bunch.” Garrett turned back to Phil. “I know, where’s your two students, Simmons and, what’s his name? Grits? Fits?” 

 

Nothing, not even a flutter. No nagging doubt, no bump of nostalgia, not even a whiff of old feelings. John was the villain of the piece and no more; it was Clint’s arms Phil wanted to end the day in. 

 

“Grant’s last progress report was yesterday morning at 10 a.m.; your instructions were short and sweet. Bring Jemma and Tripp to you and then find the rest of us ASAP.  Melinda and I were not to be harmed; everyone else was expendable.” Phil didn’t want to play the game anymore; he was ready to be done with Garrett and all his bullshit. 

 

Garrett’s whole demeanor changed at Phil’s words. He dropped the folksy grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “I take it Grant and Rumlow are tied up somewhere with your two proteges and their lovers guarding them.” 

 

“They’re taken care of, yes.” Phil didn’t offer any more than that; he wasn’t going to make this easy. “Question is, what’s your play, John? I’m sure you have people in the trees, ready to take the shot if your order it. Personally, I’d prefer heading down the mountain and letting you wander around up here following bad directions, but a lot of your team are good people who have no clue who they’ve signed on with, so I’ll attempt to convince you there’s nothing here to find.” 

 

“Phil, Phil.” Garrett shook his head, a condescending smile on his face. “Now we both know you found a map and you were at the Panther’s Head  Ward told me Rumlow saw the Black Panther, so I’m not buying what you’re selling.” 

 

“There are drawings on the walls of the Panther’s Head.” Tell the truth, that was Phil’s strategy; keep it simple. “And we found a small box, yes. But it was just a drawing, John, not a real map.  And the Black Panther?  The kid Ward hired was wearing a black shirt and jeans when he tried to help us.” 

 

“The kid who’s missing along with the female guide? So they can’t confirm the story?” Garrett arched an eyebrow.  “Convenient, wouldn’t you say?” 

 

“Yes, they certainly were convenient when Rumlow shot Tony.  Without them we’d never have gotten him to help on time,” Phil said. 

 

A tilt of his head and Garrett eyed Phil from head to toe, surprise shadowing his eyes. “You really have changed, haven’t you Phil? I didn’t believe Grant when he told me.  I honestly can’t tell if you’re lying or not.”

 

“Sorry if it bruises your ego, John, but you’re not that important to me anymore.” The words felt right as they left his mouth, confirming what he’d come to realize. “And you know what? I’m ready to admit that chasing the myth of Wakanda has always been just that … tilting at windmills. There’s more to life that being the first one to find some old ruins.”  Phil glanced at Clint who gave him a fond smile in return. “This trip has taught me that.” 

 

“Good God, next you’ll be asking for forgiveness and going to an archeologist anonymous meeting.” Garrett reached behind him, taking out the gun Phil knew was tucked in his waistband. “I miss the old idealistic, Phil.” 

 

“You mean the easily manipulated Phil.” That was truth too; Garrett had used Phil all those years to get what he wanted.  “The one who’d do all your research for you.” 

 

“You were the best. Still are. For old time’s sake, the offer to join me still stands.” With a one shoulder shrug, Garrett pointed the gun in the others’ direction. “It wasn’t all pretend; we had some good times, you and I.”

 

“And stand by while you kill my friends?” Phil shook his head. “You know what my answer’s going to be, John.”

 

“Dammit Phil, I don’t really want to do this.” For what it was worth, John seemed sincere. 

 

“But you’re going to.” Phil raised his hands. “Because the lure of money is more important to you than anyone in your life.” 

 

“Not money.” A fire lit in Garrett’s eyes, the blue turning darker as he spoke. “It’s about changing the world, making it over in a new image. People need to be led; there are too many choices, too much freedom.” 

 

“You didn’t tell me he was a nutcase,” Clint drawled. “I’m going to have to question your tastes more closely from now on, Phil.” 

 

“Or just taste Phil  more closely,” Natasha tossed in. “Whichever works.” 

 

“Indeed,” Clint replied, that sassy glint in his eye.  “Rumlow at least let us say goodbye before he tried to kill us; surely has-been over there can do the same.” 

 

“You want one phone call?” Melinda said. “Here’s the cell.” 

 

She bent over and picked up the phone from the pack at her feet, Garrett’s gun following her every move, thumbing it on before she tossed it to Clint. In no more than two heartbeats, it began to ring, an insistent trill demanding their attention. 

 

“Says Alexander Pierce is calling,” Clint told Melinda.  “You want to take it?” 

 

“No,” she answered. “It’s for Garrett. Give it to him.” 

 

“What the …” Garrett had to lower the gun to catch the phone as it arced his way.

 

“I spoke to him this morning.” Phil kept his face passive. “I think he has some new instructions for you.” 

 

“Nobody get any bright ideas; there are guns trained on each of you,” Garrett warned as he put the phone to his ear.  “Hello? Alexander?” He went still at the sound of the voice in the receiver. “Yeah, I’m … no, that’s not … what? … how? … are you … no … that’s not … of course, I understand that but …” With each word,  he grew more and more agitated; his face flushed and his volume grew louder. “That’s bullshit and you know it … no, I won’t … you’re covering your own ass, Pierce and throwing us to the wolves … that’s fucking lie … you hired him, you deal with his mess …” 

 

Beside Phil, Clint tensed, weight shifted to the balls of his feet. This was the dicey part, waiting to see Garrett’s reaction to Pierce’s declaration to stand down. If there was one thing Tony Stark was good at, it was bringing pressure to bear on the competition; Pierce had been feeling the full fury of one Pepper Potts and the network of contacts Stark Industries had around the world. A politician at heart, Pierce knew when to fold and walk away; Garrett had never given in a day in his life. 

 

“Fuck you,” Garrett told Pierce. “I’ll do what damn well needs to be done.” 

 

He flung the phone onto the ground; a tinny voice sounded from the small speaker, cursing Garrett’s name. Anger made his fingers fumble for the gun; Phil took two steps and swung his arm, fist slamming satisfyingly into Garrett’s nose; the bones gave way and blood spurted. 

 

“Ow! Damn it, Phil. That hurt!” Garrett complained, hand flying up to try and staunch the flow. 

 

“You were going to kill me.” Phil plowed his fist into John’s solar plexus, knocking the breath out of him. 

 

“Gah,” John gurgled as he bent over. “Shoot them …”

 

“Oh, sorry. You’re men are probably under arrest by now.” Adding an upper cut like Natasha had showed him, Phil punched hard and watched Garrett land flat on his back on the ground. “Those new people you hired right before you left? They’re Kenyan National Police.”  Phil stood over him. “Seems the contract the University signed with the government prohibits causing damage to any historical site as well as puts you under the laws of the country.  Kenyans frown on attempted murder and blowing up their mountains.” 

 

“You’ve got it all … figured out …” Garrett coughed, spitting blood out of his mouth. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll find Wakanda on our own; cut off one head …” 

 

“And two grow in its place. Yeah, I know Greek mythology.” Phil stepped aside and let the three men who emerged from the woods handcuff Garrett. “But, the thing is, there’s no ancient city of Wakanda.  No ruins, no pottery shards, no stellae. You’ll be wasting your time.” 

 

Garrett stared and Phil met his eyes squarely.  After a moment, Garrett’s shoulders sagged and he sighed.  “You really didn’t find it, did you? Fuck.” 

 

“We will need statements from all of you,” an older gentleman in a khaki shirt and pants said.      
  


“As soon as we are back.” It was Melinda who answered; the enormity of what had just happened twisted Phil’s tongue. 

 

“Okoye said to tell you your friends are doing well,” the man added as he turned to follow the others. “We’ll make sure the expedition workers are paid; Mr. Stark took care of that.” 

 

“This isn’t going to stand,” Garrett said as he as led away.  “I’ll be out in days.” 

 

“Should we tell him defacing a World Heritage Site gets his case thrown into the UN court?” Clint asked no one in particular. 

 

“Legalities were never Garrett’s strong suit,” Melinda said. “Phil always took care of that end of the business.” 

 

He let out a long, slow breath. “That’s actually how I met T’Chakka, at a U.N. conference on excavation rights and sovereign borders.  He’s a special envoy.” 

 

“Of course he is.” Clint laughed. “And now he’s got Tony in his corner too. HYDRA doesn’t stand a chance.” 

 

“Damn it, now I’m going to have to like Stark, aren’t I?” Natasha said. “Nobody tell him. I want to annoy him for a while longer.” 

* * *

 

“No, you may not.” The nurse took the glass from Tony’s hand, sitting it on nearby table. “No alcohol.” 

 

Tony, reclining in his hospital bed and wearing a soft robe, pouted. “Aw, come on. It’s a party! I need something besides water to drink.” 

 

“You may have some rooibos tea,” she gave in. 

 

“Be still my heart,” Tony said with a grin. “Tea!’

The last thing Phil expected when they returned to Wakanda was a party, but Tony wouldn’t hear of missing the opportunity.  Somehow, he got Steve to push his bed to a small dining room and, from there, a party spontaneously appeared. Musicians showed up, food came in on overflowing platters, and bottles of Leleshwa  Cabernets and Sauvignon Blancs flowed freely. Phil found himself sitting by the window, a glass of the deep red in his hand and a plate of delicious bites on the table next to him.  Holding court like a king of old, Tony listened intently to every detail of their stories, talked science with Leo and a myriad of Wakandans Phil had never met, and flirted outrageously with Steve.  When Tony turned on the charm, he could be very persuasive; Steve, it seemed, was more than receptive to the overtures. By Phil’s third glass of wine, Steve was balanced on the edge of Tony’s bed, a hand resting on Tony’s thigh.  Catching Phil’s eye, Tony winked and smiled; he was certainly happy with the way things were turning out. 

 

So was everyone else, or so Phil thought. Mack, gauze covering cuts on his temple and bruising down the side of his face, gazed fondly at Leo as his hands wove increasingly intricate patterns to go along with whatever he was saying to Tony.  Jemma was deep in conversation with two doctors, Tripp by her side, his arm in a sling and shoulder bandaged.  Melinda and Natasha were enjoying the music, close on a bench, glasses half-full, talking quietly, heads tilted together. 

 

“Here you are,” T’Chakka said, joining Phil with his own glass of wine. “Stark already has my people wrapped around his finger; I can see now why his company is so formidable. He may act the fool, but he has a good heart and cares for his friends.”

 

“Right now, I think he cares about getting into Steve’s pants,” Phil replied. King or not, T’Chakka and he had always joked with each other. “Looks like it might happen.” 

 

“Yes, well, Stark may find the tables turned,” T’Chakka confided. “Our Captain Rogers is no slouch in the romance department.”

 

“It’s going to be fun to watch either way; I hear Steve’s coming back with us. Tony’s lined up identification and documents for him.” A tiny spike of jealousy inched into Phil’s chest. “And I’m leaving two of my team behind, so it seems.” 

 

“Mr. Fitz and Ms. Simmons are more than welcome here. I hear she’s already chosen a study carrel in the archives and has begun a pull list. They are both such inquisitive young people.” 

 

“As is your son,” Phil added, nodding towards T’Challa where he stood behind Mack. “He spoke to me about the dig for the Carthaginian king.  I think he’d like to be involved but is afraid to ask.”

 

“He has my blessing if he wishes to go; one can never learn too much about history.” T’Chakka’s face grew serious. “But will you be able to lead it? Have you heard from your university?” 

 

“Nick left a message that Pierce was resigning to take a job with the Department of Education in Washington, D. C. Nothing yet from the Trustees on either Melinda or me, but the Dean of Graduate Progam ruled that neither Leo nor Jemma are at risk.,” Phil explained. 

 

“I imagine your friend Fury will find a way to smooth ruffled feathers,” T’Chakka said.

 

Phil chuckled. “Nick’s more likely to be the one ruffling, but, yes, he’s fighting for me. Thing is, I’m not sure I want to go back to where I was.” 

 

“Perhaps a new opportunity will present itself,” T’Chakka suggested. “I, too, am thinking about the future and all that it may hold for my family and my country.” 

 

“For Wakanda?” Phil tilted his head, took in T’Chakka’s half-smile, and thought about it. “You’re not thinking about …” 

 

“It would be a difficult decision, for sure, but the path Baast lays out before us sometimes changes.”  He sipped his wine, watching his son laugh at a joke Tony made. “Stark Industries wants to go into the clean energy business; perhaps we can do good in the world in other ways.” 

 

“That would be a hell of a bombshell,” Phil said. “But life seems full of them lately, some bad, some good.”

 

“Very good indeed.” T’Chakka’s eyes flickered over to Clint who was chatting with Okoye. 

 

“I’ve got no clue where that might lead.” Being philosophical seemed the best way to handle the Clint situation. “He’s off to find his brother’s body; beyond that …” He shrugged. 

 

“What Baast wills, Baast wills,” T’Chakka said. He tugged a small parcel from his coat pocket, about six inches square, and handed it to Phil. “Perhaps this will help your argument with your Trustees. I bought a box of books at an auction in Addis Ababa, paid by the pound, and this was in it.”

 

Carefully, Phil unwrapped the soft cloth that protected the leather cover, easing it open.  Cracked and yellowed pages were filled with a bold black script, handwritten letters running all the way to the edge and in the margins. Just inside the jacket, on the water stained liner, cursive letters spelled out a familiar name: Alexander Randolph Coulson.

 

“One of my Grandfather’s journals.” Phil could barely breathe. “It has to be from the East Asia trip; he had all the others but the ones that got left behind after the earthquake and subsequent flood.”  Thumbing through, Phil saw drawings mixed in with the writing; his heart beat a bit faster when he recognized Chinese characters juxtaposed beside Swahili words. “He would have had Rainee with him.”  Phil remembered the small, wiry African who had wanted to see the world and joined his Grandfather’s expedition; Rainee had taught Phil his language, one of the first Phil learned. “Mel’s going to go crazy for this.” 

 

“I am glad it’s in your hands now.” The King rose from his seat. “I owe you a debt, Philip, for keeping our secret.  Remember that.” 

 

He ran his hands over the stitching, feeling each divot and scratch.  Such a small thing, and yet so precious to him. And coming to him now, at the exact moment he was at a loss for where to go, what path to travel.  The search for Wakanda was behind him; he had no idea what lay ahead. 

 

“Guess what? One of the guys who worked for Rumlow is a Wakandan and he remembers Barney’s expedition. He didn’t go, but he saw the map” Clint said, taking the chair recently vacated. “He thinks he can recreate it which will at least get is in the right area to search … what’s that?” 

 

Phil showed Clint the small book. “My grandfather’s journal from his China trip. T’Chakka found it in some old books.” 

 

“That’s great!” Clint’s smile was genuine. “Now you can follow his footsteps.” 

 

“Maybe.” Phil wrapped the cloth around it and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Assuming I can get funding and still have a job.” 

 

“Didn’t you hear? Tony’s decided to create a separate foundation to fund expeditions; something about beating the thieves to the goods that belong in a museum.” Clint winked. “I be you’re on the fast track for approval.” 

 

“Does Pepper know about this plan? Because until she does, it’s only Stark dreams.” Phil paused to think about it. “Actually, I bet Pepper loves it. She’ll have a line of museum replica jewelry for all the finds.” 

 

“And with Pierce leaving your university high and dry, Tony’s money will look very good,” Clint finished for him. 

 

“It could work,” Phil had to admit. “And I certainly wouldn’t mind a steady funding stream. There’s a lot of people working at smaller schools who might never get their projects off the ground without it.” 

 

“Maybe he’s hiring guides, I could live in the States for a while.” A bit of Clint’s smile slipped away. “Not that I mean … I would like to … but I don’t have to …” 

 

“II thought we had that clear. I’d like to see where this goes, if you want to.” Phil saidi the words in one rushed exhale.

 

“Me too,” Clint replied. “Look, I don’t know how long finding Barney will take. Hell, I don’t know what comes next at all. I followed him here and, in every way that counts, I was stuck waiting for him to come back, one way or the other.  I didn’t have a plan after that.” 

 

“I know that feeling,” Phil agreed. “I mean, I love teaching but I’d forgotten how much I loved being in the field.” 

 

“How about we go with what I do know:  we’re together, there’s an unopened bottle of wine over there, and a nice big bed in a quiet room just down the hall.” Clint turned his clear gaze on Phil. “Come with me, Phil. Let’s stay lost for one more night.” 

 

Old Phil would have reasoned himself out of it, but new Phil went with his gut. One more night, no promises, no pressure, no thought of tomorrow, sounded perfect.  He stood, taking his glass with him; Clint snatched the wine and Phil picked up a plate of pastries. Neither cared if anyone saw them or what they might think. Shutting the door behind them, they shut out the rest of the world, the alarm clock on the night stand their only reminder of the passing time.

 

Moonlight washed through the open curtains, the mountains spread with shadows and pockets of dark. He didn’t need any more to recognize the curves and contours of Clint’s body; his fingers found their way and his lips followed, a kiss for every inch and caress of every scar. Slow exploration, skin sliding over skin, quiet breaths. Nipping the inside of Clint’s thigh, sucking bruises along his collarbone, tugging at the bottom of his lip.  Slick palm around Clint’s length, long strokes, hips rolling, thrusting together.  

 

After, they lay, limbs tangled, face-to-face, and spoke aloud the truths that hid from the light of day. Who they really were, not who they pretended to be. Of dreams  that might be and regrets of what could have been. They opened the wine, plumped pillows and leaned against the headboard, sharing bites. 

 

Kisses flavored with sugar and wine stirred to passion again; Clint in his lap, lazily circling his hips then lowering himself down, clenched tight around Phil. Rocking slowly, Phil’s hands tightened, finger tips pressing into the curve of Clint’s ass. Looking deep into Clint’s eyes, losing all sense of self, coming close together before gathering Clint in his arms and sliding down. 

 

They dozed, woke for languid kisses, then dozed again. Neither mentioned the shifting numbers nor the creeping light over the mountain. Clint’s arms were comforting, his body warm, his even breathing matching Phil’s. Only when the alarm beeped for the third time did they finally part, easing out from under the covers. 

 

Later, as Clint and Natasha loaded their gear onto a waiting helicopter, Phil stood by, Melinda at his side. He didn’t look at her, nor she at him; they both had offered to help, but there were only so many boxes and duffles to organize. Then Mack brushed past them, a bag thrown over his shoulder and a crate full of electronics in his hand. 

 

“What are you doing?” Clint asked, half-blocking the door. 

 

“Going with you.” Mack tossed his bag in.  “I’m not going to let you do this alone. We’re friends, Clint; that’s what friends do.” 

 

“And,” Fitz interjected before Clint could answer, “I’m coming too because you need me. Ethylene exposure will leave a bit of itself in human bones?  You and your brother grew up near the Clinton Complex, so you’ll have the markers; if we can calibrate the sensors to search for minute traces of the chemical, we may be able to narrow the search area. I’ve got some ideas for a more portable unit; I can work on the way with Mack to help.” As he spoke, Fitz climbed into the helicopter and took the crate from Mack’s hands. “Plus I hear you’ll be passing through a colony of black and white Colobus. Did you know they’re the only species of monkey that doesn’t have thumbs?” 

 

“Wait, what? Ethylene? Colobus?” Clint looked askance at Mack.

 

“Turbo loves monkeys and he may be able to pinpoint Barney’s remains,” Mack translated.

 

“Fine.” Clint sighed then shook his head. “Haven’t even left yet and I’m already losing control of this expedition.” 

 

“You never had it,” Natasha told him, swatting him on the back of the head. “Now say goodbye and let’s get in the air. We’re late as it is.” She walked to Melinda and enveloped her in her arms, whispering in her ear. Then she turned to Phil and hugged him as well. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you, Phil Coulson.” 

 

“You too.” Phil hugged her back then let her go. 

 

Clint clasped Melinda’s hand. “Keep Phil from throwing himself under the bus for everyone, would you?” he asked her. 

 

“That’s an impossible task,” Melinda answered, “but I’ll try.” 

 

Unsure what to do, Phil stood awkwardly when Clint turned his way. For a second, he thought Clint would just nod, but then they closed the distance and Clint kissed him, a quick brush of lips that was over far too soon.  

 

“I’ll keep you updated,” Clint said. 

 

“You need anything, just ask,” Phil assured him.  

 

And just like that, Clint boarded the chopper, not looking back. He put on his headphones and fired up the engines, at home in the pilot’s seat.  

 

“See you in August, Phil!” Fitz shouted. 

 

“Remember, student housing has a no pet policy; I’m sure that applies to monkeys too,” Phil called back. 

 

The helicopter lifted off the ground and rose, picking up speed and altitude as they flew to the west. The backwash of the rotors stirred Phil’s hair and fluttered his clothing, the loud sound doing nothing to drown out the sinkhole of emptiness that formed in his chest. Until they dwindled into a small dot on the horizon, Phil stayed where he was.  It was time, he thought, to go back to reality and face what awaited him. 

 

Phil was ready to go home. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the final chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me, all you who've been reading along, and welcome those who've waiting until this opus was finished. I really appreciate all of you! :))))

**_4 weeks later_ **

 

“To Nick.”  Jasper held up his foaming mug. “The craziest person I know. And since I’m sitting with these two who ran off to Africa this summer, that says a lot.” 

 

Phil raised his own glass. “To Nick, the new Provost of Culver University! Thank God he was dumb enough to take the job!” 

 

“Shit.” Nick clinked his beer with the others, took a sip, then set it down. “Anybody’s better than Pierce, even me. Besides, I’m going to make you guys do all the paperwork.” 

 

“Nah, that’s why you create an Assistant Provost and promote Maria Hill. She’s good at that stuff,” Melinda told him. 

 

“Already talked to her. The trustees have to approve it, but I think we’ll get it done by the end of the spring term. I’m going to be lucky just to keep the university running through fall and spring. Never thought I’d say this, and if you repeat it, I’ll deny it to my dying day, but Stark’s going to be our saving grace.” Nick winced at the name. “The Foundation’s backing is smoothing over the fallout from Pierce’s leaving. The man was robbing Peter to pay Paul; going to need a forensic accountant to figure out where everything went.” 

 

Phil’s phone vibrated; he opened the app and felt a goofy smile spread across his face. In the picture, Fitz balanced in the hammock, his tablet projecting a map; surrounding him, three monkeys with fluffy white accents in their dark fur looked on with rapt attention. Dr. Fitz holding class, the scrawled words said. A second picture followed the first, this one a selfie of Clint’s face with dark clouds in the sky. Gonna rain, it said. Wish you were here.

 

“Oh God, don’t you two ever quit?” Jasper snatched the phone from Phil’s hands. He swiped the screen and started laughing, holding the phone so Nick could see. “Oh, Fitz.” 

 

“I heard he’s looking for an apartment that allows pets.” Melinda took the first chip as the waitress put the platter of nachos on the table. “Contacted Hank Pym about the space over the garage.” 

 

“Makes sense,” Phil allowed. “It’s not a bad place. Hank never had enough furniture to absorb the echo, but Leo and Mack should be fine.” 

 

“And the monkey?” Nick asked, laughing around his bite. 

 

“Mack’s working on a dog instead,” Melinda told them. “Adopt one when they get here.” 

 

A dog. Phil always wanted one but Garrett didn’t like them, and then, well, he just hadn’t had the drive.  “Something big and cuddly; Fitz will go fo that.”

 

“I’m thinking about a cat,” Melinda said, licking cheese off her fingers. “Now that I know I’m not moving anytime soon.” 

 

“Hey, someone had to be department chair.” Jasper poked his finger at her. “And Indiana Phil over there’s having his early midlife crisis, so that leaves you.”

 

“Could have been you,” Melinda shot back. “We’d have been in trouble then.” 

 

“So what are you going to do, Phil?” Nick pressed. He’d been asking Phil that almost every day since he got back. “Your old job is still waiting if you want it.” 

 

“I don’t know.” That was the God’s honest truth; a constant itch at the base of his spine wouldn’t let him settle for the same old, same old. “You promised I had until August 1st to decide.”

 

“Can’t blame a man for trying,” Nick muttered. “But, hey, take your time.” 

 

Phil’s phone buzzed again; Clint, reclining on his cot, grey shirt sweat stained, hair messy, a big grin on his face. Raining now, he’d written. 

 

“I plan to.” 

 

**_Six months later_ **

 

“... exciting new venture. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you The Stark Archeology and Technology Initiative!”  

 

Behind Tony, a banner fell down from the ceiling, the letters S.A.T.I. emblazoned in silver, each one on a background square illuminated like a medieval manuscript. Phil clapped along with everyone else at the fundraising gala even as he looked for hints that Tony was overdoing it.  The man simply didn’t understand the words ‘take it slow.’  Fortunately, aside from the tell-tale glow behind the white dress shirt, Tony looked great. 

 

“I can’t believe he got it done this fast,” Steve said.  Talk about a man who looked good in a tuxedo, Steve Rogers put everyone in the hall to shame with his perfectly tailored Tom Ford. “He’s like a force of nature; once he sets his mind to it, he makes it happen.” 

 

“Reminds of a certain Captain I recently met.” Phil loved needling both of them about their burgeoning relationship. He’d never seen Tony Stark this happy before; Pepper had actually sent him a box of Voodoo donuts in thanks. “Seems you got what you wanted too.” 

 

“More than I could imagine.” Steve’s eyes went soft as he gazed at Tony’s profile. Onstage, Tony kept talking about new projects and future ventures and connecting the present to the past. “What about you and Clint? Have you heard from him recently?” 

 

“He’s in transit right now, something about a new job.  Says it’s a great opportunity for him and Natasha, a direction for their future.” Phil was happy for Clint, he really was. With Barney’s body found and buried in Wakanda, Clint could turn his attention to what came next. 

 

“What kind of job?” Steve asked. Tony was rising to a crescendo, talking about how his mother would have loved to see this day. 

 

“Don’t know; he wasn’t specific. Just said it was up his alley.” Phil heard clapping from the audience. 

 

“You’re next,” Steve whispered. 

 

“But don’t worry; I know I’m an engineer, not an archeologist. That’s why I’ve hired Dr. Phil Coulson to oversee and direct the projects funded by the foundation. Phil managed to wrangle me in Africa, so I know he can handle anything.” 

 

Tony waved his direction and Phil stepped out of the wings, waving his hand at the crowd as he walked over to stand behind Tony. He’d argued against making an appearance, but settled for not having to speak. 

 

“And joining him as co-director and expedition leader will be Clint Barton, a man crazy enough to jump off a cliff to save my ass,” Tony continued.

 

From the other side of the stage, Clint entered, resplendent in his form-fitting blue suit and grey turtleneck. Sounds receded and everything else went out of Phil’s head, Clint his only focus. Blue-grey eyes sparkled, that mouth Phil had dreamed about curved up in a crooked grin. Knobby fingers took Phil’s hand, winding around his own and squeezing tight. 

 

“I told you the job would change my future,” Clint said, leaning in to whisper in Phil’s ear. 

 

“Yeah, but you didn’t say mine too,” Phil whispered back, as happy as he could ever remember being. 

 

**_8 Months Later_ **

 

“ … It is a longing-a deep wanting, convenience discarded. Thinking with our hearts, living by our souls.  Was bound to be-a matter of time, and we called it love.”

They made a perfect picture, framed by the setting sun, the mountains behind them, purple hibiscus twinned in Jemma’s hair.  Beautiful painted henna tattoos ran up her arms, intricate patterns matching the colors in her simple wrap dress.  Tripp had eyes only for her, their hands clasped as they repeated their vows. 

 

“May Baast teach you to rejoice in the people you are, how to love and be happy. May Sekhmet keep you safe, allow no harm to surround you,” T’Chakka said, placing his hand over Tripp and Jemma’s. “Blessings for both as you begin your life together; what was two is now one.”

 

Applause erupted as Tripp swept Jemma into a deep bend, kissing her with abandon. Phil laughed, his heart light; beside him, Clint grinned as he clapped. The celebration continued to the reception with free flowing wine and platters of sweets and fruits. Tony was taking bets on who’d be next; the odds favored Mack and Fitz -- Mel and Nat had made it clear they were happy as they were -- but Phil bet on Steve and Tony just to see Tony’s face when he said it. 

 

“You seem content,” T’Chakka said when they had a moment alone. “Your new job suits you then?” 

 

“I’m giving other people a chance to chase their dreams, and I get to go out in the field at least once a year,” Phil told him. 

 

“Sounds like you’ll be busy.” T’Chakka smiled. 

 

“Don’t worry; I’ll make sure he doesn’t over do it,” Clint said, sliding up to Phil and slipping an arm around his waist. 

 

“It’s good to see you happy, my friends.” T’Chakka raised his glass and his voice as he toasted them all. “To the future and whatever it reveals.”

 

**_12 Months Later_ **

 

“Careful.” Phil eased up on the crowbar; the stone block shifted, sliding into the groove they’d just greased. “Let’s not break it now.” 

 

Slowly, the last barrier moved aside, slipping into the slot in the wall; the lights behind them illuminated the room beyond. Phil could make out the glitter of gold and his heart sped up. 

 

“Okay, I know this is exciting, but remember, safety first,” Clint warned the others. “The inner chamber could have any number of traps and dangers; nobody go rushing in. That means you too, Phil.” 

 

Phil drew his head back; he’d leaned in without even thinking about it. “Fitz, you ready to try out that new toy of yours?” 

 

“The dwarves are a go,” Fitz replied, opening a small case and flicking the switch on his remote. “Let’s see what’s in there.”  

 

Tiny drones rose into the air and made their way into the chamber; Mack held the tablet out for all to see as the six cameras began feeding images.  Decorated walls, overflowing casks and stoppered urns, a raised central pedestal, and an interred body, preserved by the cool temperatures. 

 

“It’s a grave chamber.” Phil almost forgot to breathe in his excitement. 

 

“How long will the air need to circulate?” T’Challa asked, watching the computer rendering that was being projected from Fitz’s tablet. “Isn’t there danger of bacteria?” 

 

“The Mummy’s curse.” Mack chuckled. “We’ll be long gone but our diseases will survive us.”

 

“I’ll run an analysis ASAP,” Fitz said, tapping in a few commands. “Then we’ll know a time frame.  We should wait at least until tomorrow when we’ll have a visual of any potential dangers.”

 

“I can see one already.” Clint pointed at the body’s feet. “See that change in color in the floor; I bet that’s a weak spot. Too much weight might break through. We should get the imaging for the area, see if there are other caverns.” 

 

As much as Phil wanted to step in and prove he’d finally found that Carthaginian king, he pulled back instead.  “We need a safety perimeter and a watch, people who can resist their curiosity. Fitz, get a soil sample and test for contaminates, just in case.” He let a big grin spread across his face. “Tomorrow, we’ll find out for sure, but we’ve definitely found the tomb of someone with money and power based upon what I’m seeing. Break out the bottle of whiskey you’ve been hiding, Clint. No matter who that is, this dig has just paid for itself.”

 

**_16 Months Later_ **

 

“Oh my God, Phil. Did you know?” Nick asked, his voice bouncing loudly out of the phone.

 

“What?” Phil mumbled. He held the phone away to look at the time. 7:29 a.m. on a Sunday morning.  “What are you talking about?”

 

“Jesus, you don’t know? Turn on the TV. Any news channel.” 

 

“What the fuck does he want? This is our day off,” Clint grumbled as Phil reached for the remote. Burying his head in Phil’s shoulder, Clint nuzzled his nose against the lip sized bruise he’d made last night. 

 

“Something’s up. Nick wants me ..” Phil stopped as the television blared in the quiet of their bedroom. 

 

“... a country kept in total isolation, unknown to most of the world.  King T’Chakka made the announcement this morning in Austria, speaking for over thirty-five minutes about Wakanda and their emergence on the international stage …”

 

“Oh, that.” Phil sighed. “I thought he was waiting until Baast’s high holy days, but I guess Tony won out; he’s been ready for weeks to announce his new energy plan.” 

 

“What are you … fine. Keep me in the dark. I’m only your oldest friend in the world.” Nick played the guilt card as good as anyone. “So Wakanda is real? And T’Chakka’s the king? Spill it …”

 

“Later, Nick. I’m going back to sleep now.” Phil cut the call and tossed the phone towards the dresser. The TV remote was next, the screen going blank. 

 

“You going to tell him about the book?” Clint murmured, lips brushing along Phil’s collarbone. 

 

“Eventually.” Phil shifted, rolling them both on their sides. “Since I’m awake now, maybe we should …” A series of barks were followed by scratching on the door. Phil looked at Clint then rolled his eyes. “Get a dog, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.” 

 

“He knows we’re awake now.” Clint slid out of bed and grabbed a pair of jeans. “I’ll feed him and take him out.”

 

“Have I told you how much I love you.” Phil watched the play of muscle as Clint lifted his arms and tugged on a sweatshirt. 

 

“You stay right there and I’ll let you show me when you get back,” Clint said with a wink. He opened the door and Lucky barrelled in, too big paws catching on his floppy ears. The vet said he’d grow into them eventually, but right now, the rescue puppy was a menace on four legs. “Come on, little guy. Let’s chase that squirrel.”

 

Snuggled under warm covers, Phil could almost believe it was all a dream.  Long nights writing a history of Wakanda, friends getting married, Jemma expecting, a handsome man who loved him … he might not be Indiana Jones, but the new Phil Coulson was doing perfectly fine. 

**Author's Note:**

> okay, I'm a college professor so you'll see a lot of discussions about budgets and tenure and students, etc. I might take out a bit of my frustrations through Phil's. That said, I'm NOT an archaeologist and I know I'm taking a lot of liberties. You don't just decide to go on an expedition and leave within a week. I'll be faking my way through that part of the story; just picture a map with that red line going from one location to the next. If Indy can get away with it, so can I.


End file.
